My Cardboard Balcony

Today, while working at the bookstore, I talked with two customers about two guest authors we are featuring: Damien Echols and his wife, Lorri Davis. Damien Echols happened to be a member of the Memphis Three, convicted of a crime he didn't commit and only getting out of prison after serving nineteen years. I was mentioning how sad it really is to have an innocent individual lose so much of their life, to which one of the customers added, "Yes, and think of the world they're re-entering! Everything is different. Computers, cellphones, all this new technology - and they haven't been able to really experience it and build a skill set off of it." It really did make me think about how different the world is now compared to nineteen or twenty years ago. And in many ways, how different it is in just a quarter of a century. Tomorrow, I am turning twenty-five years old. I am a quarter of century in age. And yes, a lot has changed. I am typing on a laptop. I used Skype

This is an untitled, unfinished novel that was technically left alone in late 2008. However, the last time it was modified and checked for errors was 2011, where upon I decided that the absurdity of the plot combined with the sloppy British research was too much for the story to continue. However, seeing as this is Whims of the Time Traveler, it's a perfect example of my first attempt at long fiction, so I've decided to unabashedly display it. Have fun. Untitled: Chapter Five by Belinda Roddie I admit that I should have listened to Rupert. He was right; we didn’t have very much time to spare as kids anymore. Even as soon as we were fourteen, our professors, our guardians, even our friends were expecting us to be different. They expected us to act like adults, like professionals, because we were going to have to be one of them soon. My friends were waiting for me to get out of my tomboy phase. To state it more accurately, they wanted me to lose about ten IQ points and lath

There was no bellboy when we arrived in the lobby. In fact, there didn't seem to be anybody at all. Not even a good dozen dings of the bell we slapped on the front desk seemed to draw a single soul out to assist us. Therefore, we figured we'd investigate on our own, leaving our suitcases in a pile in the nearest corner of the room. We went up to the second floor and heard no voices. We smelled no body odor. Not a single resident walked down the hall, shook a bucket of ice, or complained about room service. The hotel was, in all honesty, completely vacant.