My Cardboard Balcony

Frayed Wires by Belinda Roddie Don't tinker with the circuitry that holds my sepulcher together and keeps it lit on cold, Midwestern nights. Flip the switch, and the mummified remains of my previous identity glow with flecks of gold and silver. One last ditch effort to glorify my lackluster past, my half- hearted smile still glued to my skull beneath the folds of electrical tape.

The old oak by the school was where they kissed for the first time. When her finger lingered on a loose button, tugging at the threads, wondering if, mid-smooch, something would change or be taken back. Words, pledges, feelings - they all felt so fragile even beside something as sturdy as that tree, which had been around for as long as she remembered.