My Cardboard Balcony

Elsewhere by Belinda Roddie There's a circle drawn on Christmas Eve a circle that leads to a winding staircase of ice a portal that draws us into a festival in a tiny village where people are thankful for what they have There's a circle drawn on Christmas Eve They are celebrating They drink hot tea mulled cider and they eat the stale cookies from last year yet the royal icing somehow still tastes sweet as two girls kiss under wilted mistletoe There's a circle drawn an infinity is hidden in rain and ice in a blizzard that reduces vision to white and in the static you hear the hiss of a fire that still burns despite the withering splinters There's a circle drawn an etching, a basic rune that reminds you of your first gift: a bauble from your grandmother silver and sapphire Her hair was crowned with red light and green holly She smiled when you laughed and the whole world felt as light as the orb cupped in your tiny hands

I found a Christmas card in my locker after finishing my last final, which had been a grueling two hours of algebraic equations and sad attempts at understanding the fundamentals of trigonometry. I half expected to open the envelope and dump glitter out, given that my friend Chuck was prone to silly pranks and tricks to make me laugh for the first time in an entire week. Instead, the card was simple, yet sentimental - a beautiful hand drawn Yule tree on the front, with simple, "Best wishes," on the inside. But no name.