My Cardboard Balcony

The rules had never applied in this town. Depression was not an option. No guidelines for wrath. No leeway for a tantrum or a chance to cry. Here, it wasn't necessary. Because everyone smiled. Everyone laughed. And everyone ticked like an old grandfather clock with a blank, scratched face. I came to the nondescript burg and knelt by the sign. I wiped the tears from my dusty chin.

by Belinda Roddie Andy woke up in space. And how lovely the cosmos were! Swollen nebulae pulsing like rich celestial cotton candy. Misty fingers rising to the occasion. Beautiful in every way. Like a child's fever dreams come to life. Andy had not been prepared for this. At least, he thought he hadn't. But his suit had been prepared in the most beneficial way. In the cold vacuum, it protected him and seemed to give him endless oxygen even when there was none outside his helmet. And as he jettisoned about, he could see the corners of his visor brimming with stars. He found a rocky planet to set down on, to readjust his footing, and see how far he had gone. Earth was nowhere near him. Good. This was a very nice change from the 9-5 monotony he had become accustomed to at the age of thirty-nine. Even with his suit on, he felt his receding hairline prickle as if with static electricity. His breath was warm, making his face feel greasy as he paced slowly around the terrain, th...

It takes some madness to destroy a town. Set fire to a gymnasium. Wreak havoc on roadhouses and gas stations. Doesn't matter how many times someone slaps you in the face. When you crack, you crack. That's that. I put down Stephen King's "Carrie" and loll my head back. The backs my eyes are burning. Purple veins throbbing against graying white. I've never been normal, sort of like King's protagonist. I close a window without getting up from my seat. It's frosty outside.

It's been kind of a crazy week for me. Lots of kids to tutor, new training sessions for GirlSMART, new students to tend to (one of which doesn't know English so I have to teach him entirely in Spanish. This'll be interesting). New projects, new formulas, new strategies. It's a new year, and everything's new. Especially when it comes to planning for my future. Tonight, at my aunt's house in Davis, I signed up for both the CBEST and the CSET tests for teaching. Which is good. Both tests cost a pretty penny to take, so I better not blow it, but it's good that I signed up. It's only the first step in the direction toward officially teaching. After that, it's looking at credentials and potential graduate schools. ...Yeah, that's the part that's freaking me out a bit. There are a few fundamental things about my life that I want to hold on to or I want to push toward. But from what I've been told, a credential program (obviously) takes a l...

Rude Motor by Belinda Roddie Christine, caress these weary fingers stained with oil Callused from toiling over your vintage framework I want to see your hubcaps spinning, chrome and silver Your tires tearing up fresh asphalt as my vision turns Into one big, crimson blur behind your heavy shield It’s just you and me, and your rude motor Christine, let me breathe in your sweet perfume It constricts me and gently submits me to the confines of your wheel I love to see your bright eyes glowing, glaring At the passerby who stop to stare at the awkward pair, The silhouette against your amber gaze It’s just you and me, and your rude motor Christine, couldn’t you have been a pretty girl instead? A golden-eyed girl, with red hair and red lips So you could hold me without anybody looking? You leave scars when you bite down on me And when you kiss me, you kiss too hard And when you groan, you rattle my teeth and shake my bones But come evening, I’ll b...

Hear that? That's the sound of a hollow drum in my chest. That's the sound of the tiny little rat skeletons playing marimba on my ribcage. The rat skeletons symbolize something significant. I don't know what. Either way, the things chew at my lungs, tying my arteries into red ribboned knots as I attempt to sleep. I am not happy with my breathing. I am not well. I cannot wait for yestermorrow.

The Giant Wanted Freedom by Belinda Roddie The giant wanted freedom from the flesh, the flesh that forced him to grow still taller and taller, his hips swishing against the tips of the California redwoods. He had once been a boy of a mere five feet, and now he didn't mind that quite so much. The doctors could not do much for him now - his brain, his lungs, his heart. They would give out, unable to uphold the mightiest of skeletons, massive and hard as a mountain. Poor giant. How I wished I could grow to reach your heights so I could kiss your cheek without helicopters high in tow. Before you toppled, thought you'd like to know.