My Cardboard Balcony

I Want To Be A Sorcerer by Belinda Roddie I want to be a sorcerer. Could you begin to imagine how great that'd be? I'd have a thousand books of spells and brews, and I'd achieve a total mastery of everything magic - each jinx and hex, special elixirs for love, life, and death, and with each wave of my wand, I would vex the most logical of minds, every breath drawn in at the sight of my flowing robes, my pointy hat, and my ability to turn a cow into a bird or probe a human into flying past the trees, across the sky. Is it too much to ask to be a wizard, or too hard a task?

The light from the frosted window was translucent, creating a harsh glow of outside energy against my bed. As I tried to wake up fully, I could feel an awkward weight against my bones. The illness, I knew, was getting worse. I wasn't quite sure if I'd be able to walk without a cane, maybe even two. It was getting more apparent that I would need a wheelchair. The doctors hadn't known what to make of my ailment. No diagnoses seemed to cut it. It simply seemed, they said, that I was like Atlas, and the weight of the world was literally pushing me into submission.

Not Another Gay Novel by Belinda Roddie It's one of those nights when I've arrived at my parents' house for dinner. My sister and brother are there, too, and somehow, the old mutt who's been the darling of my family for over a decade still has the energy and posture to beg for any food remnants that tumble from the table. We eat ravenously, talking in between chews, while I ignore the occasional political quip from my brother as he tries to push my father's buttons on healthcare - a rather hot button at that, one that will burn your fingers. And then, when I've found the chicken less interesting than the words bubbling in my brain, I announce, "So, I'm planning on writing another novel." My parents look up from their plates with an aura of slight interest. My sister already knows, and my brother has always seemed apathetic about my writing.  I already pumped out a book a year prior, the ideas once wiggling in my cereb...

You said that my feelings were "highly illogical." Who were you, fucking Spock? Was there really something in your mental honor code that provoked you to challenge the things I could not control? And really, was it so necessary to alert my family of the sheer audacity of my actions, my attempts to live the life I wanted without false mentors and artificial prophets standing in my way?

Easy on the Eyes by Belinda Roddie She wears a skirt like extra skin, an edge to add to an edge, to an edgy silhouette dreaming shadows up behind a transparent curtain - it's meant to conceal, but it winds up revealing every calming inch. I like her. I like her from a distance, when my coffee's cold and my biscuit's broken and my credit card is maxed. I think of kissing her and know that if I tried, she'd slap me, hard, and with her lipstick handprint dripping anger from my cheek, I'll know that I've deserved the strike. Still, there's something to her that keeps me cool. The smile or the curve of her ankle against her sneaker. The way she adores herself, and I think she should be respected for it. But from a distance, I am an annoying ogler, and even though she's easy on the eyes, I am ashamed of devolving her to nothing but the superficial glow of my carnivorous urges.

"Five out of seven of us are disfigured," said the person in the nearest corner, "but you won't be able to tell which ones. We all wear masks, you see. Some masks, they cover a small area - an eye, or a nose, or a jaw. Others, it's the stereotypical ninja look - everyone below the eyes, shrouded. The rest of us, it's an entirely new face. And you'll never know if the real face beneath the plaster is still societally passable."

"He's very vocal about this whole 'anti-environmental' movement," my grandmother sighed as she poured me another cup of coffee. "Did you know he's 'rolling coal' now?" I stopped mid-sip and frowned. "Rolling coal?" "Yep. Equipped a smoke stack on his truck so it spews the stuff. He says it's sticking it to the man." I slowly put down my mug. "That is the stupidest and unhealthiest thing I think Grandpa's ever done."