My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie That's the last time I let you order an extra hot caramel latte monstrosity. Now you can't feel your tongue, and the whole car smells like a unicorn farted out dulce de leche fumes. This is almost as bad as the time you got a caramel stuffed churro at the county fair and wound up with half of the gooey mess on the front of your shirt. No, you're sticking with tea next time, kiddo. Iced. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to order another mochachino explosion with extra whipped cream. This week's prompt was provided by Jocelyn Roddie.

The stories that we tell might seem new, wrapped up in bright, shiny paper and tied with ribbons that gleam in the light, presented in a way that appears surprising and original. In truth, they all contain the spirits of the ancient storytellers, their dusty fingerprints remaining in fragments on the pages. The epics and the poetry, the fairy tales and the folklore - those tales continue to speak to us, leaving tufts of warm breath in our ears.