My Cardboard Balcony

The Trickster Crows by Belinda Roddie The trickster crows - his last, long, ling'ring cry of victory before he drops stone dead among the roses. The garden is dry from lack of rain. The petals are too red. I take his hat from his cold head and pull it across my brow, the brim tight, sticky from the June heat. I've been given a role to act, and a small stage to set my feet upon. I know the stories - I've observed my master work, defying truths, the art of deception, confusion, brightly curved against his elbow, wits close to his heart. I quietly stand by his corpse today - what is the game that I am meant to play?

"Quit stalling!" growled Evelyn, waiting impatiently outside Avi's bedroom. "If you take too long, we'll be late for the show and miss the chance to see the first act!" Avi groaned as he buttoned his vest. He knew how important the play was to Evelyn. He also knew that the reason she was watching it was a stupid one. Ralph, who played the lead, was an alleged studmuffin - but he had never been interested in Evelyn.