My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie My daughter woke me up saying the wolves in her tummy were angry. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but she grabbed my left shoulder and shook it, hard. "They're desperate," she said. "It's seven in the morning on the Sunday," I griped, wishing I could completely sink into my mattress like submerging myself in a swimming pool. "Can you wait an hour?" "Uh-uh. They're hungry. Now." I sighed and pushed the reluctant comforter off of me, my distended stomach bare, save for the coarse black hair, in the sparse light coming from the slightly cracked window blinds. At the sight of my grumbling movement, my daughter bounded down the stairs to the kitchen, beaming from ear to ear. Celia loved wolves. It did not help that she went to Lobos Elementary, where murals of gray, spiky-haired canines lined the mosaic walls of the buildings, and someone who decided he was fine looking like a furry occasionally boun...

We saw the smoke signal from ten miles away, where we had built our encampment in the highlands so the enemy forces couldn't see us from their outposts. At first, we weren't quite sure if the whitish gray plumes were a message or merely another incident of a town burning, or a razing by an ally or enemy. But the smell was surprisingly sweet when it reached our nostrils, and we suddenly felt an urge to slumber as we attempted to shoulder our rifles and head towards the steady stream.