My Cardboard Balcony

At First, I Could Not See by Belinda Roddie At first, I could not see; the mud was thick and smeared my goggles with harsh slime, the smell so potent that it almost made me sick as I scaled the abandoned wishing well. The well had been severely neglected, as water dried up and earth clogged its jaw and filled its belly. My friends expected me to find each coin that lay in its maw, the very coins that people had tossed in with whimsies and desires etched on each brass, silver, and gold surface. While covered in sludge and moss, I told my friends that, alas, I had not found a single penny. Seems they all disappeared with each thrower's dreams.

The bottle was drained of bourbon, the tobacco scraped out of each tin, as the dark, rich smell of cider could be tracked from the kitchen. A drunken Mabel stirred eggs around in a pan as the pot beside her bubbled, the cinnamon apple odor permeating the air all the way up the stairs, waking up the inebriated guests from their self-imposed slumber.