My Cardboard Balcony

The Closet War by Belinda Roddie She hides the truth in small groups, marching two by two, but she doesn't actually have anything to lose. She's quick to slip lies into the formation, the troops as ugly a reality as a loose tooth - once they tear away from the red line, it's all over. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, there is no way on God's green earth that this facade clicks. She puts mythos in uniform and equips her made up army with sticks, but tricks don't have sharp blades, or bullets that actually leave divots in burst skin. Dishonest stories don't usually have happy endings. She winds up spending thousands of dollars to cover it up - with martinis, with marriage, with children all tucked in their rows like artillery carted off to the next global gun show. Look how much the veins have grown in her forehead, spider webs of capillaries ready to blow. And blow her cover, too. She's been having sex with her neighbor for thirteen ye...

Look at her, all smiles and sequins, skirt and sashay up to the big old Hollywood stage. She was nominated for six awards, you see - for acting, design, directing, and a screenplay that read like poetry. And don't forget the visual effects and cinematography. She's a one woman show - a bombastic box office boon. Just imagine all the champagne glasses dropping when she waltzes into the room.