My Cardboard Balcony

A Seed Planted in August by Belinda Roddie A seed planted in August grew to be a huge sunflower until autumn ripped all its grandiose petals from its face and left it shaved of beauty while the leaves in all their colors took its place. My dear daughter, who had taken great care to make that flaxen darling blossom in tough soil and shine like gold amid a small, modest garden, was disappointed to see how it shriveled and wilted, stooped as if with age. I told her when summer came around again, she could use a fallen seed from the ground to plant it right where the last one stood, so it could get the perfect dose of sun.

Inside the dank cathedral, two children prayed. In the courtyard along the sinister turrets, a gardener planted roses. Beneath his feet in the basement, a ceremony was starting. The vicar was dressed in blacks and reds. The deacons all in whites. They would wear the dark stains of those who felt the dagger in the colossal man's hands.

Burger Stack by Belinda Roddie burger stack rack of lamb ham and cheese please, on rye buy a coke broke for shit hit the spot hot dog ketchuped get up for sauce gloss the pork chop lop the meat off got grease dripping slipping down T-shirts hurts on the tongue lungs heave for more more

This was the last straw. First, it had been the three pubescent boys stealing potato chips from the deli area. Then, it was a middle-aged woman opening a cupcake container just to eat one of the chocolate puffed pastries. And now, two giggly high school girls were opening up cans of soda and drinking them. The security guard had no choice. He had to save the day.

Turrets by Belinda Roddie Baron Jeremiah's fortress was foreclosed and repossessed after he filed bankruptcy with the Royal Council, which had just approved the new recreational swimming pool for the populace in the village, all the while affording court entertainment where jesters made comparisons to greens and reds pouring down in matching rivulets to fill the wells for the townsfolk to drink.

"I'll make this brief - " "That's what you said last time." "Well, yes, but..." "And you took thirty minutes speaking last time." "I understand, but..." "All about Gustav Holst." There was a giggle resounding throughout the classroom. A rickety racket of tittering. The teacher was not amused. But the students certainly were. Very much so. By non-briefness.

I Ate A Tree by Belinda Roddie I ate a tree. I literally ate a tree. I stripped the bark off its body with my sharpened teeth, and I chewed at it like it was gristle. I tried a cluster of bay leaves as a side dish, but it made me crave for pasta with marinara. If I looked hard enough, I could spot tender sprigs of sap crawling from the raw flesh of the trunks where I satisfied my hunger. I sucked away at the sweet knotholes, thinking of maple syrup and shortstacks, glistening with kitchen dreams. The berries scattered in hateful hordes were not edible in the least, instead dangling like forbidden jewels to take from the trove. And before I slept, the crisp cool rain made a puddle in the mud, where I lapped up the earth until it grew molten, and bubbled, and erupted, and the landscape became lava rock and I was left with pangs.