My Cardboard Balcony

Collector's Items by Belinda Roddie Look what you started - you've pinned my wits down like flowers in a book. All the pages are brown, and the words have bled together like black rain. The stories are all one saga now. The flowers are wilted. I'll discard this tome like all the others. You say my thoughts and dreams are worth drying and preserving, but in truth, they hold as much weight as salt in the ocean, and they don't leave nearly as much of a taste in your mouth as the spray of the sea does in summer time.

There was no hatred in her voice. There was no malice in her tone. Yet there she was, and here I was, observing her upon her throne. She did not speak evil to me. She did not plan to do me in. Yet there she was, and here I was, repenting for my biggest sin. She said to me, "Alas, poor soul. Not sure if you'll be growing old."