My Cardboard Balcony

Manchester Cigarette Lighter by Belinda Roddie Flicker on a ticker, tickle her belly button with smoke. You check your time bomb before it explodes, hold your breath until it reeks of battered cheese. Stinks a million times worse than the kiss you gave at the New Year's party at a quarter past eight, when you lit a Manchester knock-off firecracker and flung it right under a poor New York mascot's rubber nose and sent it off screaming out firefly flickers.

"I've decided to run for mayor of Harvorclarke." There was some light applause echoing by the TV set, but Franklin was less than amused. "You've got to be kidding me," he grumbled. "I mean, I like Uncle Bob and all, but...mayor? He may be many things, but political material is not one of them." "Hey, with the right amount of gaffes and silliness, he could be the best circus act I've seen in two years," his father grinned, getting a bonk on the head from his wife and, subsequently, Uncle Bob's sister.

She was tall and broad-shouldered, short-haired and green-eyed. She stood between two ice statues, sipping from a cup with steam catching in her thick eyebrows. She was watching me as I nestled my arched back into the corner, my gaze shifting from each wall to determine whether or not I was safely hidden.

by Belinda Roddie " The Prestige has a really creepy human fax machine." "Oh, kind of like Bartleby the Scrivener? " Natalie shrugged. "I always considered him to be more of a zombie." "No, no, no," retorted Norman. "We are not making Bartleby into a remnant of 'The Walking Dead.' Not ever. Stick to the legitimate interpretations of the books, will you?" We were having what Norman had christened a "Bowtie Party," where all of us wore the damned things as the host himself also donned a top hat and what was meant to be a full-blown mustache but was really just a sad collection of stubble on his upper lip. He had collected six bowties from his father and his uncle and had all of us wear one, whether it was black or blue or even green. I settled for the strict tuxedo one, sipping the dry wine that I had brought and no one else was consuming. They were too focused on their own bottles. "I don't know wh...

It seems that OneWord.com is having more than a few technical difficulties. Erm...I'll just let you know if it clears up, 'kay? 'Kay.

There are a lot of things that people take for granted, especially when it comes to their appendages. Two days ago, I badly sprained the ring finger on my right hand while playing basketball at the school I work at. It was me and another teacher against over a dozen boys ranging from 2nd grade to 5th grade, and they could get vicious. In the end, my hand got smacked by the basketball, and I had to ice the painfully bent finger with a frozen juice box as I taught my second grade literacy class. I first thought that I had just jammed my finger, as I had done before while in sports. What I forgot was that a basketball, unlike a dodgeball and a bouncy ball, has a lot more weight, has a tougher exterior, and can really pack a wallop. I went home in extreme pain, my finger practically immobile at that point, and debated going to the doctor the next day. Fortunately, after splinting my finger using half an emory board and some adhesive tape, the pain has significantly lessened to a dull...

When the Sailor Became the Sea by Belinda Roddie Riding on the northern shore He honks his horn at swan boats by the dockside One sailor hears the call and tumbles into the sea He thought the sound was a calling from his Deity The driver sees the headline and he meets the sailor’s wife She says he lived a happy life, he loved seagulls, And the ocean was all he talked about each and every day But he showed no need to have an arm around him at night She shows snapshots on the balcony where he smiles Playing Edmund from O’Neil all the while, how it fits his spirit To be one with the sea and not the seat of an automobile The sailor has more worth than the driver ever thought Riding on the northern shore He is silent, wheels tearing up the road And sees the altar where the sacrifice was held When the sailor became the sea The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since February 8th, 2007.