My Cardboard Balcony

The Giant Lost by Belinda Roddie The giant lost at cards the other night against two dwarves, an elf, and an old witch with pointy hat and everything. He might not have done so hot, but he didn't bitch, just simply smiled. "I'd shake your hands," he said, "but I'm afraid my grip is just too strong, and I could crush both your arms and your head." He sat against the wall and took a long drink from his enormous flagon of ale, while the dwarves lit cigars and the elf slipped the deck of cards away. A distant wail of wind could be heard, and the old witch quipped, "That's my cue to leave." She hopped on her broom, cried, " 'Til next week!" and sailed out of the room.

Arvey straightened the bowtie beneath Barkelee's chin, unused to seeing him wear anything but tattered travelling tunics and breeches and boots with almost-holes in the soles. In fact, she was sure he was disoriented by her appearance as well. The golden gown did wonders for her lackluster figure, giving her curves she did not have and her hair a surprising sheen even in the dim light of the dressing room.

3:48 by Belinda Roddie My father called me downstairs and told me to bring tissue from the bathroom. He was bleeding from both nostrils, bending over the sink to stop the stain from spreading onto the newly polished wood instead of the weary metal basin. "Don't mind it," he gurgled. "It's fine." But it was 3:48, twelve minutes before he was supposed to take his purple pills, and I, listlessly standing beside him with a wad of paper fragility in my fist, knew that nothing in this household  could be defined as "fine."

The occupancy of the theater was a mere one hundred twenty, and over two hundred people tried to squish into the space in order to hear the newest, youngest mayor speak. Many were disappointed to be turned away, but instead of going home, they found a place to sit outside and had small juvenile messengers scurry in and out of the conference to bring back tidbits of information. "Well, my son told me the mayor has a pimple on her chin," one man sighed from the corner, understanding his child's lack of priorities.

Please be seated and listen to the following instructions. Instruction Number One: Remember that you are not alone. There are many others like you, in this same room with you. And they are all feeling the same fear. Instruction Number Two: The right side of your belt has a key. The left side, a lock. Therefore, those two items are useless and should be ignored. And Instruction Number Three: Learn to hold your nerve, because without it, you are nothing but an empty skull.

Second Night by Belinda Roddie We spent an evening at Brown's house, exactly twenty hours after the wedding, and, like bastards from the Shetland Islands, we passed bottle and flagon around and felt hot honey whiskey burn our innards. I wore my silver band with pride and an ounce of courage, and my best man wrapped a leftover ribbon around my wrist as a half-assed symbol of fortune. In the hotel across the way, my new wife cut her long locks to give herself an older look, and she knew I would adore the pixie cut, and she would adore it, too. And ultimately, when the mead had sunken like stone into my cavernous belly, I'd walk back to our room where the champagne bottle was empty, and the rose petals were wilting, and her flesh was raw and inviting like the cold waves of salt settling on the shores of Lerwick.

Angel revved up the engine before sliding his hands across the steering wheel, the rubber sticky and cracked from all the sweaty summer days he and Michelle had spent down south. Reaching down for a cigarette, he realized that he did not have one, and he grumbled incoherently as he drove his truck away from the cabin. It was two hours before the wedding, and he needed a smoke.