My Cardboard Balcony

Night At The Excalibur by Belinda Roddie We hustle and bustle to the street corner, while the moon still hangs like our personal talisman, to wave down a taxi. We carry heavy stomachs, betrayed by pancakes and cold coffee at a quarter past ten. "Take us anywhere that has a jacuzzi, free wi-fi, and a full fucking bar," says Milo, tossing back his hair, his beautiful androgyny on full display. He wants the cabbie to take us to the best hotel in town, in short. The lights are a frozen white above our heads, but the warmth is still radiating. Milo kisses my hand as he walks me to the pool below our luxury suite. We submerge, letting the weight of our cheap diner meals slide off us as easily as the water we float in. We lift like bubbles in the spray. There is champagne next to our bed, and we take our time drinking it. We are only famished for each other.

I held her body in my arms as I knelt in the thick, brown brush, the whimpering wind finally subsiding into a cold stillness that did nothing to thaw the chill that had settled in my bones. Quickly, I planned where to bury her, and with the holes in my boots growing ever larger with each step, I pushed my way out of the foliage and waded into the nearby creek until the water kissed the bulge of my knees.