My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie The masquerade was the perfect disguise to hide their crimes. They put on masks of black and red and silver and gold. Some were feathery and beaked - others bore the weight of hairy snouts, or spread out like glossy wings ready to lift its wearer into the air. They put on their gowns and tails and shoes, and off they went to Sir Rodrigo's castle - the one with three tall towers, each window glowing white. The four men and women entered with the light of the chandelier catching on their beads and sequins, and the eyes of the other guests only lingering on them temporarily before the revelry resumed. They were unrecognizable. Sir Rodrigo was never one to monitor a detailed guest list - if you could afford the trip and wore the masks, then anyone could come to the masquerade. The red wine flowed like a bloody waterfall into goblets and bowls, and fingers were stained with the residue of puddings, meats, and cheeses, all sticky from the heat and perspiration of

The shoe peddler faced criminal charges, all in the first degree: Assault, theft, and even murder. Even so, he stared blankly at the members of the jury as he took the stand in the courtroom. His fingers twitched while his hand was on the worn down Bible proffered to him. And when he was ready to speak, it almost didn't sound human. "I," he enunciated. "Sell. Shoes."