My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie She looked at the fog her breath made on the window as the trees rushed past. The inside of the car was uncomfortably, and unnaturally, cold. Even the palms of her hands resonated no heat, the tips of her fingers refusing to thaw no matter how much she rubbed them together. Mistress Kor had told her that there would be two others with her, in the reasonably sized estate on the outskirts of Zeneda. What she hadn't told Arvey, however - that is, until the very last minute, having noticed the admittedly meager supply of clothes the girl had packed into an admittedly, and stubbornly, small suitcase - was that the stay was more than just a day or so. And as it were, they would not always be meandering the corridors of the honorable mansion, but instead traveling to the alpine tundra beyond, into a world of frost that Arvey was not accustomed to dealing with. Particularly due to her smaller, more emaciated frame. Examining the way the condensation gathered on her ...

"Let's go into the smallest cave of the three!" said Barkelee, pointing enthusiastically at the Boulder Triad in the distance. Arvey shook her head. "I don't think so," she griped. "I've heard bad things. My mamee said..." "Your mamee's a coward, Arv, no offense to her," snapped Barkelee. He shouldered his knapsack and looked at me. "What do you think, Miss Kor?"

It has been a very nice, mostly relaxing week off. Yes, some of it may have been a little too low-key for my tastes - after all, I didn't exactly stray away from my little suburban hobbit hole save for when I took two college friends to San Francisco and then welcomed back a friend from her stay in Italy last Sunday (that day was awesome, by the way, save for the food poisoning). So I did get to see friends, and I did get to spend a lot of quality time with my siblings, and I actually cooked more than usual! Imagine that! With my busy schedule, it's hard to come home in time to make dinner for the family, so I only end up cooking once a week. But this week was an exception. My parents are in Southern California taking care of some things and seeing some friends, so it's been me, my sister, and my brother in the house. Without too much work overloading me, I've been able to chill, do some reading, continue writing, play guitar and sing a bit, and real...

New Horizons (Pave the Way) by Belinda Roddie Pave the way Pave the way to new horizons Roses smell so sweet In vast gardens on the new horizon   Pave the way All it takes is a staff of elm All grows beneath its shaft Pave the way with a staff of elm   Trees will grow Golden leaves will drip with dew So pure you could drink it Sit under the tree as it drips with dew   Close your eyes Colors fade from old horizons New ones you’ve trod upon Colors will arrive from old horizons   It takes no more than that But what’s left is hearts at bay And they will beat at what you do this day So pave the way The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since March 1st, 2008.

The talks had stalled, and the President of New Centranova was outside the office of parliament, smoking a pricy Red Spice cigarette. It had taken a literal wringing of the neck of the economics advisor to get these, and he was already feeling better about the less assertive replacement. He inhaled the zest and breathed out crimson smoke. Very relaxing.

A House is Built of Silver by Belinda Roddie A house is built of silver down the road where I live, its walls sleek and so pristine. As I carry my daily heavy load, I take a long look at the perfect sheen and glow of the archways that lead to its glossy gates, where the silver cars are perched on paved driveways that have similar glitz and glam. I watch a little boy then lurch onto the sidewalk just beside the home. His eyes are gray but gloriously bright, his hair thick and matted and shiny chrome. He goes to see his mother, all in white, her precious metal coated lips a-smile; the silver is too much once in a while.

"Look at you," spat Barry, "in your beads and leathery, your feathers and your tattoos. You take yourself to be an enthusiast, don't you? Admiring those Native American tribes that withered away under the mighty hand of Andrew Jackson, a man with big, iron balls. You think you're some great chief, are you not, owning some casino to cheat the American man out of his mon - " He abruptly cut himself off upon looking at the man more closely. "Oh. You are a Native American chief. I'll go into my asshole corner, then."