My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "No, but really, those pork rinds are for everyone. Ivan? Ivan!" Of course, Ivan simply pulled the bag closer to his chest, munching away at the contents, and all his brother Ben could do was sigh and return to the rest of the party. In the corner, Lacey and Erik were kissing with lukewarm beer bottles in their free hands, while Sandy played guitar on the dilapidated couch with the strange hunting landscape pattern. At this point, all Ben wanted to do was curl up with a beer and the TV remote control and shoo everyone out. Then again, he was throwing this shindig for his sister Shana, who had just turned twenty-one. So he may as well suck it up and deal with the set-up for the next six or so hours. It was eight o'clock by the time the first guest actually left, a disgruntled Alan after a call from his girlfriend. No one wanted to leave, though. Some of the younger people were huddled on the carpet, Ivan included, who of course was still not...

Compared to Simon, Olivia was a towering behemoth of curls, muscle, and freckles. And it certainly helped on the football field. Simon was a speedy quarterback, but Olivia could take down enemy players two at a time without even flinching. She essentially was the symbol of the team's defense, and despite any father's loud, anti-female complaints, the coach loved having Olivia play.

Today, while working at the bookstore, I talked with two customers about two guest authors we are featuring: Damien Echols and his wife, Lorri Davis. Damien Echols happened to be a member of the Memphis Three, convicted of a crime he didn't commit and only getting out of prison after serving nineteen years. I was mentioning how sad it really is to have an innocent individual lose so much of their life, to which one of the customers added, "Yes, and think of the world they're re-entering! Everything is different. Computers, cellphones, all this new technology - and they haven't been able to really experience it and build a skill set off of it." It really did make me think about how different the world is now compared to nineteen or twenty years ago. And in many ways, how different it is in just a quarter of a century. Tomorrow, I am turning twenty-five years old. I am a quarter of century in age. And yes, a lot has changed. I am typing on a laptop. I used Skype...

This is an untitled, unfinished novel that was technically left alone in late 2008. However, the last time it was modified and checked for errors was 2011, where upon I decided that the absurdity of the plot combined with the sloppy British research was too much for the story to continue. However, seeing as this is Whims of the Time Traveler, it's a perfect example of my first attempt at long fiction, so I've decided to unabashedly display it. Have fun. Untitled: Chapter Five by Belinda Roddie I admit that I should have listened to Rupert. He was right; we didn’t have very much time to spare as kids anymore. Even as soon as we were fourteen, our professors, our guardians, even our friends were expecting us to be different. They expected us to act like adults, like professionals, because we were going to have to be one of them soon. My friends were waiting for me to get out of my tomboy phase. To state it more accurately, they wanted me to lose about ten IQ points and lath...

There was no bellboy when we arrived in the lobby. In fact, there didn't seem to be anybody at all. Not even a good dozen dings of the bell we slapped on the front desk seemed to draw a single soul out to assist us. Therefore, we figured we'd investigate on our own, leaving our suitcases in a pile in the nearest corner of the room. We went up to the second floor and heard no voices. We smelled no body odor. Not a single resident walked down the hall, shook a bucket of ice, or complained about room service. The hotel was, in all honesty, completely vacant.

A Gold Coin by Belinda Roddie A gold coin tumbled from my fingers as I slipped, knees-first, onto the pavement, my hair askew, my throat dry, my eyes like glass - polished but red. I worried that I'd die before I made it back with my small prize, enough to feed my family for days, almost a week. I thought about the size of the bread loaf I could purchase, the glaze of a large ham, the smell of pickled eggs - brine, salt, and honey tickling at my nose. Still weak with hunger, I forced my thin legs to push me upward, and, struggling, I rose to face the harsh wind. Stifling every groan, I staggered on and aimed my heart for home.

There were seventeen different swatches of fabric on the kitchen table by the time Bill got home. The first thing he noticed was that his wife was staring at said swatches, rubbing her brow feverishly as she perused them and apparently analyzed them. The second thing he noticed was that all the swatches appeared to be the same shade of red. "No, they're not," his wife protested when Bob commented on that. "You're colorblind. These are clearly different. We have blood orange, burgundy, ketchup, brick, rust..." Bob decided not to argue.