My Cardboard Balcony

Think Fast by Belinda Roddie if two trains loaded with TNT come barreling at 1,000 miles per minute toward your little hybrid shelter that just stalled along the old, old railroad tracks, at what time will they both reach velocity to split your skull into over 1,000 little pieces?

The catcher of the baseball team was reading Catcher in the Rye in the locker room while his son hung a dreamcatcher in his bedroom about two hundred miles away. If the catcher looked really hard at the pages of his book, he could catch a glimpse or smudges on the print. Meanwhile, his son was catching up with his homework and watching the feathers of his new decoration dance against the light breeze caught from his bedroom window.

A Pair Of by Belinda Roddie Irish cream to cool a swollen pair of adenoids - a cloth to cool a swollen pair of brain lobes, pulsing back and forth like pong on a jaded game console, which knobs are barely working after twenty years of loneliness. Painkillers to serve as tiny red cherries on the sundae that marks a symptom-free weekend until the next time panic rolls around and I start worrying that the same thing will happen again.

My toy boat was drifting on the waves of Stinson Beach. I had placed it there because the little sailor who steered the toy boat wanted an adventure at sea. I hoped he would not be thirsty or hungry, but the sailor told me he never needed water or food. I wanted to see him tip his hat or salute to me as he disappeared into the foam, but he was just a speck in my vision now and I couldn't see him from where I stood on the sand.

At four am, I lost my temper waiting for a call from my fiancé 'cause he was still drinking at a party filled with horny girls, and I was hopeless for some answers 'cause he said he would return two hours ago. And he's still not home. I tried to call him, but his phone just went to static with his warbling voice all growing icy in the winter winds around him, saying, "This is Charlie, leave a message, I'll get back to you." That's bullshit. So I punched a pillow and sat grumpy on the couch until I crashed.

by Belinda Roddie Look at the pretty stars. They are pretty. They sparkle and they tell lots of stories. Daddy says if you look hard enough, they make shapes. I see them. One looks like a kite, but Daddy tells me I'm not looking hard enough. He says the diamond is a man named Orion. But he doesn't look like a man to me. Daddy tries to make me see his sword and his armor, but I don't see it. I just see lots of pretty dots making triangles and squares. One looks like a big pot. Daddy calls it the Big Dipper. Mommy is one of the stars. Daddy told me so. He told me she became a star after she left one day. The last time I saw her, she was in a white room, lying in a white bed with white sheets. There were lots of pretty flowers around her. Red and purple and white flowers. They looked like little fireworks in jars. Daddy gave Mommy a big bouquet. Now she's up in the big blue sky. And she's really really pretty. When you look at the stars, I hope you can find he...

The most exquisite suits were on display in the great metropolis of Rathbone, and all the most noble suitors for the duchess's daughter were sifting through the aisles for the best pick. Balzac de Grazi, the richest of the barons, was gazing at a bright red display, while a green embroidered black tailcoat caught the eye of Reginald Alviera.