My Cardboard Balcony

His Raspy Voice by Belinda Roddie His raspy voice was due to all the smokes he swallowed down like red hot candy, and his narrow eyes were bright pink. As I choked down fresh air outside, he opted to stand just a foot away, cigarette between his teeth, the ash descending on his shirt. I wanted to pretend he wasn't mean, or dirty, or uncouth. He wouldn't hurt a fly, right? Still, his words did all the work, and when I finally went home, I knew that my soul had been fractured by the jerk, the guy to whom my mom said, "I love you." I called my real father ev'ry night; his voice filled up the space like warm, clean light.

Tim felt like he couldn't leave his job because he didn't want to lose his benefits. But at the same time, his job had impacted him so negatively that he needed to use his health benefits to survive. But if he left his job due to the toxicity of it, he'd lose his health benefits...that he was using because of the toxicity of his job. Thank God he didn't drink to cope anymore. He swallowed a mouthful of ginger beer straight from the bottle and grimaced.