My Cardboard Balcony

She Read Me by Belinda Roddie She read me like a book, and I was floored by her demeanor and her presence, too. She wore a smile that I soon adored, though it was rare and seldom in my view, for she assured that, when put on display, she would not act the part for everyone who courted her. The role that she did play in public was quite different when, once done with interaction, she retired with me to her room, where the curtains were then drawn so no one dared disturb our chatter. We were honest with each other 'til the dawn unfolded like an envelope, and then we went back to our cues onstage again.

They say that if you find the fields of dying wheat just outside town, you'll catch a glimpse of a colony, where the inhabitants are almost human. They dig holes in the dirt where it's dry and yields no fruit or life, and when night falls, each ditch glows as if lit by a thousand embers or laughing fireflies.