My Cardboard Balcony

Well. Life has dealt me a rather shitty hand in cards lately, hasn't it? The new job didn't work out. I wish it had, but it didn't. I don't want to go into heavy detail about it because it hurts too much, but let's just say that some administrators in the education system should not be allowed to make decisions or treat employees in the same awful, unprofessional fashion that they treated me. And let's just say that three of my friends who I told my story to believe the reasoning for the job not working out was discriminatory. Shame that I can't prove that. The bottom line is: I'm unemployed again, possibly for a part of me that I cannot control and I cannot change. And that sucks. The thing is, my last job at AmeriCorps before this botched attempt was an amazing, even if difficult, experience. I was treated with respect using the oh-so-startling concept that I was young and I was learning. My AmeriCorps supervisors were there to support me - they ...

Letters Before Graduation by Belinda Roddie May twenty-first seems like a sub-standard, succulent trifle of a day, like mint melting on the lips of a sweet-toothed lover. To some obsessive Christ druggies, keen on the idea of heaven after an earthquake and a potential zombie apocalypse – keen enough to sell their homes and drag their children by the ears out of the gleam of sunshine from a classroom window – May twenty-first is the dawn of the Rapture, grace among dead bodies. And if that’s the case, then I should wear a machete under my gown as I receive my bachelor’s in compulsive imagination because there’s a new dawn for me, a day when I hope I can be redeemed by the browned hand of a carpenter who felt nails in every place but the thumb. And after my mentors, not so old and wizened, shake my hand and tell me that I’m in for an adventure, I will absorb each word like the ultra-violet rays soaking my cheeks and nose and chin in red and green from the leaves masking the unfi...

"Yes...I can feel hostility coming from you. It's discoloring your aura. The pastel is fading to shade..." "Shut up," I muttered with my eyes half-closed. "You're full of shit." She continued to move a single finger up and down my bare chest. Sweat mingled in a friendship across my collarbone, which bulged outward from my skin and created a bony halo. She giggled.

The Disappointed Fan by Belinda Roddie The disappointed fan morosely walked back to his apartment after his team lost yet another game to their rivals by a huge score - sixteen to one, in fact (How could they allow so many home runs?). When the fan went inside, he stared at the many posters and pennants that he had collected through the years. He knew he would never turn to another team to feel better. He had to stay devoted to the group of baseball stars who had swept the World Series twice in a decade. He pressed a hand to his jersey. He couldn't shame the team this year. He'd just enjoy the game.

All along the railway, I see the dusty souls of former passengers, railroad workers; the bifocaled, epaulet-stooped conductors with the overly braided caps which hairs now frayed as if they, too, were going gray and bald with age. I stop to retrieve a piece of splintered wood wedged into the train tracks. Strangely enough, it looks polished. Recognizable debris from the fire.

Even the Good Ones by Belinda Roddie Even the good ones have bad moments, and the honest ones tell lies, white as a baby's molar. Even the morally strict sometimes cheat, swayed by the thoughts of those friends they believed were better than that. The faithful feel lust, and the quiet ones scream so loudly that dust settles when the wind has stopped gusting. I, too, have my rotten times, and my sour times, and my toxic times. I have pressured people into doing wrong. I have hurt others by trying to help others for the wrong reason. The worst part is that we're all expected to be perfect, under the scope of a camera lens blinking back tears on too hot of a city night. We need to be on our best behavior, or our lives are wrecked. Which is sad when you pluck the scraps away, because in the end, even the good ones have bad moments sometimes.

The students appeared to look on with intrigue at first, but as the presentation wore on, it was clear to see that they were losing focus. Initially, the use of media, slideshows, and even live animals to make scientific points had been mind-grappling. Now, it was all just talking, pandering to philosophy more than biology. Many students couldn't listen with a strong focus. But Elizabeth could.