My Cardboard Balcony

The Madman's Eyes by Belinda Roddie The madman's eyes were dilated, his lips as blue as ocean salt, his teeth exposed and white with froth. I thought I saw him slip into the garden, where each orange rose was pruned and in full bloom. I followed him to the fountain, where he was tossing small and blackened coins into the water. Slim and hunched over, the man gazed at the wall of the manor looming beside him. Was he trying to find solace in a flash of green ivy? Or was he here because this was a place where his thoughts wouldn't clash with reality? When I approached, he was frozen, ash-faced, pure insanity.

The woman on the catwalk seemed extremely uncomfortable, and I made note of it in my journal. I was set to do an entire blurb about the designer exhibit, and yet so far, no one had appeared happy or enthusiastic about the clothing they presented. To top it off, the shoes looked clunky, the skirts looked like something out of a war zone, and the shirts and coats were, for lack of a better word, tasteless. I watched as the woman lumbered off the runway, stumbling a bit in her Lego-like galoshes.