My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "That means death." Kayla raised her head from her notebook, her left shoulder buried deep into the pillow of her bed. She looked at me cautiously as I pointed at the screen of my laptop. "What?" "That Japanese character, right there? It means death." I gestured at the kanji. "Shi. Death." Kayla smiled, exposing very white teeth between two browned lips. "I didn't know you were into Japanese." "I'm not," I replied, "but it's Freddy's new tattoo. Cheery, isn't it?" Kayla hopped down from her bed to see the Facebook picture. When she laughed, I could feel a certain relief breeze through the empty spaces in my chest. "For a guy who plays French horn in concert band and has a crew cut," she observed, " 'Shi' is a little dark for his character, don't you think?" We were supposed to be working on a research project together, but of course, Kayl...

You are not entitled to anything in this planet; you simply have the anatomical tools to reap your fortunes. God did not give you opposable thumbs, but they were helpful in building shovels, jackhammers, pipes, saws, and axes to turn forests into deserts. No one gave any value to gold except you, who believed it was pretty enough to buy you a goat or a basket of eggs from the closest farmer. You thought the world was a gift to you, when in fact, you wound up at its doorstep and let yourself in without knocking.