My Cardboard Balcony

Fetch Me An Apple by Belinda Roddie Fetch me an apple from the apple tree, and I shall bake for you an apple pie. A mini-apple pie, yes, it shall be, so that it sates your tiny appetite. Then I shall brew you coffee in a bowl that's strong enough for both a king and queen, and you shall slurp it down before it's cold and dance a jig from all the energy you've gained until you fall onto the couch and giggle out a song in gibberish, while your mother laughs and your brothers slouch and grimace from their chairs. Oh, how they wish they were home playing computer games, see! The extra pie for them will be for me.

I didn't know exactly how many days she had stayed in that house. Whether or not she was longing for pieces of her past - her husband, her father, her friends and family, her elderly cat - I couldn't tell. All I could discern was her gray silhouette floating like smoke behind the pink curtains that hid her bedroom from the outside world. The stained glass windows, with painted roses, had no eyes, so they couldn't exchange sad, empathetic glances with me.