My Cardboard Balcony

That's My Closet, Brother by Belinda Roddie The clock's whiskers have spun like a whirlwind. I've nearly bitten my fingers off from the tension. You stand close enough to hear my heartbeat. There is no alcohol on your breath. Just skepticism, the staunch, pungent aroma of incredulity. In another hour, I will be off in my time machine, praying that perhaps the era I land in will treat me kinder. I am trying to wash the blood out of my cuticles. You do not understand how much you have frightened me. It's getting late - sleep awaits. The sting will leave your veins soon. It will be easier to drink the medicine I have offered you when you have settled your stomach a bit. It will dull the sharpened peaks of your mountainous teeth, behind which you hid your stash of verbal venom like questioning capsules of cyanide. But, in the end, they are only words. Though they are still honed enough to cut my already short hair. Aimed adequately enough to p

"Wow," Alex murmured. "I never would have imagined this happening in a hundred years." Leslie shrugged and ran her fork around the edges of her plate. She knew that the chow mein she had bought at the food court was probably ice cold by now. Still, her appetite was almost nonexistent, and Alex was starting to look more and more imposing across from her at the table. "Maybe not," she said. "But I'm standing by it. I'm sorry."