My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "And that's why your father and I are no longer on speaking terms," my mother told me, setting the bloodied baseball bat into the sink and gesturing for the sponge. "Now, be a dear and get some hot water boiling for my tea." Two miles away, an adulterous alcoholic with a head wound was trying to hitchhike to a hospital to tend to a concussion. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

The fleet was approaching the stratosphere quickly, with no sign of slowing down. The captain was steady and resolved on the bridge, and when the nose of her vessel dipped, she did not lose her balance. A flick of her wrist produced a small knife with an ornately carved handle, which she used to cut off the tip of her cigar before moving to light it with her dead brother's lighter. "Close to enemy contact, Captain," the XO said. The captain only nodded.