My Cardboard Balcony

Sponge by Belinda Roddie It's a kind of shame you can't sponge off, the suds collecting until the foam solidifies and turns to scabs on your raw thighs, chafing together as you try to run, but the running exhausts you after a while and you have to face the reality that if you aren't ashamed, you won't survive.

"That's your new car?" cried Charlene. "It looks like a tank!" "No, see, that would be awesome," Lindsay smirked as she hopped out of the driver's seat. "I mean, I could dominate everyone with a tank. But this is a jeep." "Jeep. Tank. Whatever. It's a flipping war vehicle!" "That's 'cause I'm a soldier, Char," replied her sister as she tipped the brim of her cap toward her left eye. "And I gotta drive like one, too."

Disappointment by Belinda Roddie it's when you realize the men in suits and ties are willing to choke themselves on knots instead of undo the straps caught around the constituents' wrists.

There was whiskey distilled from the brains of the politicians, so that if an idea sucked away at the membrane long enough, it would become drunk and belch out fermented excuses for rebellion, calling it the "people's choice," when dozens of wads of Benjamin Franklin's face proved otherwise when distributed to those with large enough suitcases. Journalists claimed that both sides were guilty, but this was not a game of fairness. It was a game that involved cheating, and one side was more adept at that than the other.

Shower of Cards by Belinda Roddie They turned on the spigot after I said, "Hit me," and all the spades dove like sharp hail, and the clubs rattled my back as they clattered to the tile below. And as I struggled to snatch a good hand, I noticed that, while the diamonds cut into me deeply, there was not a single heart to be found in the flood, and I was left half-drowned, black and blue and with very wet lines of red. I lost everything in the deluge, and they laughed so hard that king's tears sprang from their eyes.

"The pocket watch! It's been stolen!" "By its true owner," Samson snapped as he stooped down to redo his shoelaces. But his partner Munroe was having none of it. "That watch was an heirloom!" he growled. "It's been passed down for four generations!" "Yes," said Samson. "Through a different family." "Finders, keepers!" "You're absolutely ridiculous."

They say that a mothering personality is a blessing. Doesn't explain much positivity to me, honestly. When I was young, my "mothering" parent smothered me to the point in which I was just about ready to smack her in the back of the skull with a frying pan. I didn't actually do that, by the way. My brother did. He's in jail for aggravated assault and battery. He blames my mother's "concerned shrieking." I never want kids. People try to convince me otherwise, but to no avail. The day I become mothering is the day the trauma goes away.