My Cardboard Balcony

Internal Storm by Belinda Roddie The sun's branding my skin, the rum in my bottle growing icicles. This whole hot and cold tornado will carry me away. Deep inside, I feel the bells ringing, chiming out my personal clock. The hands need aloe vera. I am burned from both the fire and the snow.

This argument went beyond a mere burnt ham for dinner. This was indicative of Rosie and Ephraim's entire relationship. They had always been, to use a silly culinary metaphor, a little charred and blackened around the edges. The middle of the dish was still good to eat, but once you nibbled towards the corners, you got the disgusting taste of ash in your mouth. Rosie and Ephraim's relationship was now just the overly cooked parts of what could have been a bountiful meal.