My Cardboard Balcony

You May Not Think by Belinda Roddie You may not think I'm pretty, but I shine like rubies on the stage under the lights. I dance and spin through all the swing and rhyme of music that rejuvenates long nights when people drink and worry about death and crave for love that's empty like a glass that hasn't been filled yet. I take the breath away from the club's patrons, hear them gasp and try to get their air back. And I think I made a man fall in love with me. He gave me a kiss and offered me a drink once my routine was done. The reverie I put him in was beautiful, so there. You may not think I'm pretty - I don't care!

"Uh-oh." "What?" Josephine asked. She had gone very white, like a vampire had bitten her and sucked the blood out of her face. When she didn't get an immediate answer, her voice got louder and higher. "What, Freddy? What?" Frederick was looking at the thermometer in his hand. The one that he had just drawn out of his son Theodore's mouth. Theodore, shivering and sickly in his bed. Looking so small under the covers. "It's not good," Frederick said.