My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Wow, my tongue is sore now," groaned Francis, rubbing her jaw while flapping the limp muscle in and out between her lips. Her brother Raffy rolled his eyes and returned to his bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "That's what happens when you try to press ice down on it as hard as you can," he muttered. "We should ban you from getting close to the freezer." "Fuck you. My three dollars and twenty-nine cents got you the dairy you're gobbling down right now." Raffy shrugged and returned to his sugary treat. In the corner, I finished counting the mountain of nickels I had saved throughout the years. With any luck, I could get my own gallon of ice cream so my roommates wouldn't be the only ones approaching the chance of getting diabetes in middle age. I stood up and stretched my arms. "Doctor's appointment," I informed Francis and Raffy. "Don't have too much fun with anything frozen.&qu

The entirety of the New World Bible was a lie. Not that it harbored much truth in its Old World model. But the more and more I and the other monks read it, the more we could sense the discrepancies not only within the physical text, but also within the air currents we traveled on as we maneuvered from temple to temple to speak to our Elders. "The world itself argues against this book," I told my comrade. "Yes," she replied.