My Cardboard Balcony

The Adolescent New Year by Belinda Roddie The adolescent New Year got into the remaining crate of beer that his dad had left behind after fading into the ether of yesteryear. Knowing that his time was fleeting, he drank underage, belched loudly at the thought of his long, long ancestry, and debated whether or not he wanted to punch February in the face while the other startled months watched, waiting for their turn to shine again. At least they got to keep living each year and simply have a break - no, the New Year had to age quickly and die just as fast, the shrapnel of a wasting planet's past.

The girls dug out three trenches in the mud, the gravel pickled with almost salty rain, and waited quietly for someone to walk by. They trusted no one in this dead zone. They shouldered pistols and a grenade each, a smear of dirt under each eye. Not to look cool, but instead to camouflage in the wet, murky gloom.