My Cardboard Balcony

It's the night before Halloween. I'm sitting at my computer, having just pulverized ten mini Hershey's nuggets and downed them with a glass of iced butterscotch schnapps. Beside me, my fiancée is watching a Youtube video of some kind from a creator I do not follow. I've just finished up listening to the audio of someone performing some sort of monologue/observation written by a mutual friend on Facebook. Sadly enough, the pattern's gotten into my head, and it's almost like I'm trying to emulate it. Copycat. Something I desperately try not to be. I have plans for tomorrow. Good plans. First, I teach. I work with two students every Saturday. The first is younger, middle school age. She has a hard time with social studies. Not so much of a hard time with martial arts. I never learned martial arts. One thing I do regret. The other student is older. Sixteen or so. He's a good writer, but disorganized. Last time I saw him, we went through a whole essay writi

The Trick-Or-Treater by Belinda Roddie Jack had a lantern, all right - but not a head.

Before I could beg her to stop, my mother had ripped the drawers straight out of my dresser and began to rifle through them. With each scratching noise she made as she rummaged through my things, I could feel my throat constrict. I screamed at her, grabbed her arm and started to cry. But she would not stop. Not until she found exactly what she wanted, strike me across the face, and find a reason to kick me out.