My Cardboard Balcony

Tea Time by Belinda Roddie Wait 'til the chamomile cools enough to kiss me twice, the spices savored, the flavor embroidered with sweet caresses, our excited hands sneaking under each other's dresses.

"It was a prank!" she screamed at me, her face bright red and the tears nearly turning to steam on her broiling cheeks. "It was a prank, and how dare you suggest it was anything more than that!" We were facing off in the living room like it was a battle zone, the carpet a symbol for no man's land. On my side, my uncle and aunt, who had raised me ever since my parents had kicked me out. And my apparently not true lover, flanked by her Bible-bearing parents, ensuring that the battle would be brutal.

Trigger by Belinda Roddie Her name was Trigger, and she sure was happy, blowing holes in cans from two miles away. You could see the smoke curling into 'told you so's,' and the cursive was flawless. The brim of her father's hat was wide and imposing, and it suited her and her two revolvers just fine - a broad hat complementing broad shoulders, broad hips, and an even broader sense of humor behind tobacco leaf-stained teeth. Keep in mind that her papa's name was Barrel, and his nose was just perfect to stare you down over, the nostrils substituting for bullet chambers, warm in the winter.

I sought out a lonely vein in the abandoned gold mine, one that had been barely tapped but potentially held enough wealth to tide over years upon years of future descendants. My companion waited by the mouth of the cavern, too afraid to venture with me yet still adamant that I bring enough back for him to share. I would do no such thing, not if he couldn't grab his own rope and follow me through the tunnels and passageways. As far as I was concerned, any discovered treasure was mine and mine alone.

The group huddled together in the dustiest part of the ruins, where the clouds of dirt lifted up enough to block their view from the gharish outside world. Her throat rough from the ash and particles of debris from the destroyed nearby barracks, Errin began to speak to her companions with urgency and determination. "We move out at sunset," she ordered. "It's too dangerous here to stay. In another couple of hours, the government forces will be rushing through."

by Belinda Roddie "And that's why your father and I are no longer on speaking terms," my mother told me, setting the bloodied baseball bat into the sink and gesturing for the sponge. "Now, be a dear and get some hot water boiling for my tea." Two miles away, an adulterous alcoholic with a head wound was trying to hitchhike to a hospital to tend to a concussion. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.

The fleet was approaching the stratosphere quickly, with no sign of slowing down. The captain was steady and resolved on the bridge, and when the nose of her vessel dipped, she did not lose her balance. A flick of her wrist produced a small knife with an ornately carved handle, which she used to cut off the tip of her cigar before moving to light it with her dead brother's lighter. "Close to enemy contact, Captain," the XO said. The captain only nodded.