My Cardboard Balcony

Was this a brotherhood, a cult, or both? Andy could not be too sure, but she stood back from the strange, silver-robed men gathering forks from their wooden plates where the hearts of supposed lambs had been devoured. Two of the brothers took hands, caressing each other's knuckles, not caring to glance at the woman hovering over their table. "They will grow accustomed to you," their chief whispered in Andy's ear, startling her.

by Belinda Roddie "Maybe if you didn't drink so often, we wouldn't get in these situations!" "What, you don't like this?" "I'd rather be in the sweaty scrotum of Texas than be here!" "That's only because you're nervous!" " Shut up!" "Look, I don't see what the big deal is!" "John. You got into the Irish whiskey. Again. You dragged me to Pride..." "You were totally into the junk piercing booth!" "You have a little run-in with an 'old college friend'..." "Like I was supposed to know he was equally as flaming." "And now we're expected to dance our scantily clad asses off like Chippendale studs in this sketchy club?!" "I like this club! They serve great appletinis." "I don't care if they sell liquid gold! I'm half-naked in a speedo and collar! This is awkward as fuck!" ...

Their sisterhood was unrivaled, their compassion for one another unparalleled. Ergo, it came as an enormous shock to the town of Little Feather when one sister was put in the county jail for the murder of the other. Sheriff Rachel Flagstaff had received much scrutiny for her decision to incarcerate Cindy Harper, but to her, the evidence was clear: Not everything, including the love of two sisters, was as it seemed.

Wow. It's already almost June. June this year means a lot of things to me. It means the end of my time as an AmeriCorps instructor at my elementary school site (though I'll still be working with AmeriCorps until July 13th). It means my girlfriend's graduation from university with a B.A. in Drama (I get to see some good friends when I go down for her ceremony, too, which is a plus). It means Father's Day (Thanks for everything, Dad). And it means my twenty-fourth birthday on the 21st. Twenty-four is kind of an interesting age to be at. Not an awkward one, mind you. Yes, twenty-four doesn't open up anything new for you like sixteen, eighteen, and twenty-one did, but then again, twenty-three isn't meant to be a society-approved landmark year, either. Twenty-four's not quite at twenty-five, which is a nice, solid age number to be at, and hey, you get to legally rent a car! But twenty-four is still an interesting age. It's at least the same number as the ...

NOTE: This is going to be a slightly different presentation of "Whims of the Time Traveler" than usual. The initial draft was written back in the fall of 2006, as a high school project for an English class literally called "Myth and Fantasy." The assignment was to create a completely original creation story, for the universe, Earth, and humanity. Many people wrote small origin myths. I, however, took it to the extreme. The last modified version of this was January 8th, 2008. This is Part Two. Earthe Maeliz by Belinda Roddie Part Two: The Balance Rejoice and blow the trumpets loud For Firrah, our glorious queen! And praise the ground we trod upon, For Tumen, our glorious king! For they at last are bound in love While breaking our nourishing bread; Rejoice and blow the trumpets loud For Tumen and Firrah are wed! The wedding was attended by all creations that ...

When people think "barren," they immediately draw their imaginations toward a wasteland. When we think "wasteland," we think of a vast, empty space where nothing lives and nothing has enough energy to actually die. We view it as a desert, or a tundra, with nothing but a faint, warm breeze blowing dust into our eyes as we pass the no man's zone. But I live in a Wasteland. And it is far different than you would ever predict.

If You Seek Foghorn Swamp by Belinda Roddie If you seek Foghorn Swamp, then find a frog with golden scales; she'll lead you through the mire and help you dodge the deepest of the bog with croaks, should the situation grow dire. Then the amphibian will show you slime trailing in ribbons from her friend, the slug, whose florescent purple color sublime will shine upon the elusive Mad Bug. The Mad Bug, with bio-luminescent eyes, rules over Foghorn Swamp, the muck warmed beneath your boots, the odor putrescent in your nostrils as you view this deformed self-proclaimed monarch. He's quite odious, but he'll sing secrets so melodious. This sonnet contains rhyming word endings provided by Daniel Bulone as part of a small writing experiment.