My Cardboard Balcony

Ballot Box by Belinda Roddie In the ballot box were sixteen snakes all curled up in a ball, trying to sleep away the nightmare that unfolded in the US of A. Don't look now, but we are only hours away from a national nightmare of our own making. It's our own fascist bread that we're baking. The stakes are higher than the vampires we're staking. Cut the lights and wait until dark to cry.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked. "Comfortable? Rested?" "Agitated," she replied, and as she spoke, something felt wrong. Her mouth felt fuzzy, as if it were full of cotton. "Hmm, well, not much we can do about that until the drugs kick in." The doctor scratched something down on her pad, which made the patient shudder.