My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "This is the last time I'm doing this." "What are you talking about?" "This," replied Jenny. "This whole thing. The arguments, the angry texts, the constant back-and-forths. I'm not dealing with it anymore. Either something changes, or you're on your own." Winston froze in his chair, the half-empty bottle of beer now dangling loosely from his fist. He then suddenly began to laugh. "Cute," he murmured. "And where, my dear, might you turn to?" "Family," Jenny said. "Friends. Loved ones. It will be very easy for me to start over, Winston. You're not necessarily a strong glue holding my life together." "I will make your life a living Hell," growled Winston, his mouth trembling like the dripping snout of an injured animal. "Do you hear me? I will make everything miserable for you." "And the fact that you think that'll make me stay is both ...

Weaving a tapestry so thin that it breaks like a spider web, you feel the planet's essence drain between your fingers and turn into fragile wisps against your skin. You cannot get a hold on what makes life meaningful. The threads are not strong enough. You do not have enough light to work with, and the moon wanes slower than it waxes. Most nights, you are left with a sliver of sight. Other nights, you are swathed in a night so thick that it is almost toxic.