My Cardboard Balcony

The Barrels Leaked by Belinda Roddie The barrels leaked, and wine belched from the cracks onto the cellar floor, staining it red. I watched with puzzlement as pinot splashed across the wood, then called for Mister Zedd, the manager of the winery. He said, "grab a couple glasses. We'll make due." I filled six cups with spraying burgundy, then thirteen more with Zinfandel that spewed from the corner barrel, the splits revealed in the oak. I couldn't believe my eyes. How badly had old, worn Mister Zedd sealed away the wine? I now stood ankle-high in the stuff. The spill never slowed itself, so I grabbed more jugs from the cupboard shelf.

"I've never been a good swimmer." "It's okay. Trust me. I'll be right beside you if you need support." "Okay." "Okay?" "Okay." I inhaled. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay." I got waist-deep into the creek before I froze. She waded toward me and put her arms tightly across my shoulders, holding me against her bosom. I exhaled. I felt very warm. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she reminded me. "Oh, but I so want to now," I half-whispered, half-moaned.

You Slept With Sean by Belinda Roddie He had an air mattress pumped for two, the crumbs of bagel bites still on the rug. He bellowed like train wheels in his sleep. You remembered to lock the door. When you woke up, he was already making eggs, and you wanted tabasco sauce with your meal, but all he had was ketchup, so you knew it was just a fling.

I knew every card dealer in the casino personally, so I was put at a table with a machine and had to deal with the clicks and whirs of the aces and spades and hearts and jacks being shuffled and spewed at me. At this point, it was me against the mechanical dealer. No one else bid on my money - the owner wanted me to lose. He wanted me, for once in my life, not to walk away with double or triple the amount I had walked in with. I walked out with quadruple the amount that night.

Klondike Bar What would I do for a Klondike bar? Kill a man. No, I'm kidding. I'd do nothing. 'Cause that pseudo-chocolate shit is overrated.

"How much stereotypically rugged terrain are we going to have to trudge across before this blasted expedition is over?" growled Quinoni, brushing her too long bangs away from her eyepatch. Even two weeks after the scuffle in the tavern, her eye had not fully healed. She and Arvey were both beginning to worry that she would lose sight in that eye. Mistress Kor, for the first time, seemed distressed. "I don't know anymore, Miss Wuntyn."

Snout by Belinda Roddie He struck the dog something awful, and when I saw the blood coagulating across the poor mutt's muzzle, I suddenly drew the courage to grab my nearly empty beer bottle and smash it over the abuser's head. The name on her tag was Stacey, and I kept it that way. When times got hard, and all I could afford was broth for myself so Stacey could stay fed, the thing that would comfort me at night was when my dear pooch nestled her newly mended snout against my side as I succumbed to sleep on an air mattress closest to the open window.