My Cardboard Balcony

The water swirls around the fragments of a ball gown in a square drain. Or a prom dress. Or some strand of sequins from a department store. The man who found it is in a tuxedo. Or maybe royal raiment. Maybe he's a prince. Or maybe he's a lost soul. Beside the scraps of fabric is broken glass. It used to fit a foot. But the ankle's now broken and the pirouette's awkward and clumsy and disjointed. The slipper's no good now.

by Belinda Roddie ‎"Last time I checked, private nudity was legal." Lawrence was pretty sure he had gone blind for a brief moment - at least, up until he saw the glimpse of denim in the periphery of his vision. Erik was very sheepishly pulling on his jeans, his face more gray than red as he looked upon his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend sitting on the battered couch watching Pulp Fiction. Samuel L. Jackson's voice seemed somehow more disorienting than it usually was at the moment, with the two young men staring awkwardly at each other for some time. "Right." Leslie pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. "I don't think Larry and I have any tiffs with...um...'private nudity'...but private is private, dude." Erik hung his head. "I thought you guys were out." (Deep down, Lawrence wished he were out at the pizza place still. Or at least a little unhinged from cheap beer to endure this.) "No, man,...

Stanley beckoned little Kimberly over with a gnarly finger, like a tree branch twitching in the winter wind. She waddled slowly toward him, her hands and lips sticky from her mint chip ice cream cone. As the elderly man scooped her up in his arms, his eyes melted against hers in pools of emerald and indigo. "She's so precious," he said, smiling faintly as he looked at his son, her father, grinning from ear to ear.

Not another good end of the week. Guess it's just the way life goes. You have your ups, and you have your downs. A lot of downs, actually. I had a pet care interview and it was awful. Embarrassing, in fact. The ad didn't say it was for an odd job. Then I was told I was not selected for an interview regarding the instructional aide job I applied for last week. Even better. Finally, the doctor said I'm dealing with something called eustachian tube failure, explaining why I have had chronic ear congestion and sinus pressure for almost a year now. It has been very difficult for me to get into the Christmas spirit this year. I just feel like a total downer at the moment. I'm losing a lot of optimism, and I blame most of it on the rude awakening I've received regarding what my life's going to be like for a while. I try to talk with people, especially my family and friends, but I think for some of them it's getting old fast. Meaning I'm left with a lot of...

Untitled by Belinda Roddie The bell clanged its five-minute warning as students giggled and shuffled their way back into the hallways, blurring into a swollen mass of crimsons, blacks, and grays. To many, it actually felt like a blessing to be inside a school that looked more like a Gothic fortress, the sun glaring through the stained glass windows as whatever cool air drifted down the corridors past the students as they hurried to class. It had been so horribly warm for March, as if the weather was trying to tempt each prim and proper teenager in that school to believe summer was coming sooner than they thought. Whatever was causing the heat was disorienting each student as his or her eyes fluttered from a textbook to gaze at the world outside. Gregory was skipping biology today like always. He didn't really care about photosynthesis or mitochondria. He sat in the courtyard instead, the warm zephyrs tousling his dark hour. He had taken off his uniform jacket and loosened his...

The telescope quivered in the wind of the Kentucky rainfall. Gloria hadn't bothered to cover it with a tarp to make sure its lens didn't frost over and its brass skeleton didn't rust and turn brown. Instead, she watched the stars from her bedroom window, forgetting about Leo's constant viewing of the cosmos from that device. It was like a leftover appendage of his that she preferred to see waste away.

While Singing Christmas Carols by Belinda Roddie While singing Christmas carols in the car on the way home from work, I found a shard of calm from all the cold anxiety that haunts my mind on a daily basis. From simple things like "What if my laptop gets fried and I lose all my files?" to a somewhat moderate worry about jobs, to finally the big fear of dying or losing someone to death too early. But when a song so simple comes alive like "Silent Night" or, better, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," I can breathe at last. The Christmas season, quite oddly within the chaos, is where I find peace.