My Cardboard Balcony

 by Belinda Roddie He sat out in the rain, staring into the abyss. It was quite a large abyss, now that he thought about it. In fact, it looked more like a void. A gaping maw of unnatural existence, like a black hole coming to crush Earth in its jaw. It was swallowing up all the cascading water like it was nothing. It seemed to be growing bigger. Gorging on everything. Rain. Grass. Sky. He wondered if he should call the authorities. Scientists, the FBI, the president. He wondered if he should pray. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

I went walking on a Saturday night and didn't return home until Thursday the next week. The thing is, I don't remember what I did during that time. I can recall slight sensory memories - the smell of burnt marshmallow and the sour taste of some sort of wine I may have sipped once before in my life, sort of like someone strangled a grape into a glass for sustenance.