My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "I am the master of blackberries!" "No. No, you're not." "Bow to me!" "No. Stop it." "Then what's this bottle of blackberry wine? Hmmm? Where did it come from?" "...The cabinet?" "No! Peasant fool! I made it!" "Okay, then, Master of Blackberries. How did you make it?" "...The gods blessed me." "No." "With the power of fermentation." " No." "And all shall bow down to me!" "John, for fuck's sake." " I am the master of the blackberries!" "Just give me the wine." " Never!" "You've drunk half the bottle, anyway!" " It's not enough!" "John." " WHAT?!" "Shhhhhh." "..." "Shhhhhh. It's okay. The master's nanny is here. She's going to feed you blackberry pudding. Shhhh

I will find a mountain to properly claim without bruising my ankles or injuring my chin. I will eat nothing but air and drink nothing but molten gold. When my innards freeze up in the blizzard, I will sleep on a mattress made of the skeletons of my past. I will be king of the mountain. And I will have no subjects.