My Cardboard Balcony

Okay, first of all, it's too damn hot where I live. Freaking summer and climate change and record-breaking heat wave temperatures. Why do I have to enjoy the cold so much. Guh. Second of all...what a week. It has been a rough, terrifying week financially, with a little bit of hope at the end. So let me break it down: I had to pay three hundred out of a six hundred dollar car service, one hundred twenty or so dollars for new tires, and one hundred eleven dollars for various other things. Because my hours have been cut again, I did not have enough money to pull from my checking, so I had to dip into my savings. The result: My savings has five hundred dollars fewer than it did at the beginning of the week. Given the fact that I rely so heavily on my fiancée to pay rent, I was definitely less than a happy camper. I felt disappointed, dependent, inconvenient, and unhelpful to anyone around me. It is amazing how such an object like money can do that. The good news? I got my stude...

NOTE: This is the third full-act play I ever wrote, at the age of nineteen. While I cannot specifically remember when it was finished, I am going to hazard a guess that I was done with this play and beginning to write my fourth play by the spring of 2009. It's a risky guess, but it'll have to do. I will be releasing the play in its appropriate two acts, so you'll see Act II next week. Enjoy. Be Still, Little Lotus Eater (A Play In Two Acts) by Belinda Roddie CAST (in order of appearance) MUSICIAN MUSE SILVERS GRIMM JENCI FAIGEL AYLIN JAREK SETTING An Uncharted Island WRITER’S NOTE: All stage directions and emotions listed in this script are open for suggestion. Altering them should not decrease the caliber of the play, but they should serve as guidelines for the director and the actors. Remember, nothing is set in stone. Act One Overture (The lights come up on MUSICIAN and MUSE on center stage) MUSE. (Sings) I had a dream w...

"Seems like a risky venture, Adler," my assistant remarked to me as I sat back down at my desk. The meeting had gone smoothly, and I wiped whatever remaining sweat was on my brow with the tail of my suit jacket. "It'll work," I replied. "If those companies want to survive, they'll side with us. They always have to. We have the winning business model. They don't. "Glad to see your confidence hasn't wavered," said my assistant dryly. "Some water?"

I See The World Ending by Belinda Roddie I see the world ending. I know it's near, with every lightning bolt that leaves a scar across the land. The evidence is clear, and not much strategy will get us far from that. I've seen cities flooded, submerged under Poseidon's salty wrath. I've watched flames spread through trees and fields slowly diverge into split roads from earthquakes. People clutch their loved ones on their roofs, singing their last songs. Prayers tenfold, like rain, endlessly pour as we see futures disappear and pasts seem much more golden than ever before. And when it's done, the sunlight will go gray, and all shall fade, and all shall fade away.

I had been tutoring Glenn for three years now, and he had improved his grades tremendously. Still, he had told his mother that he was not ready to end the sessions just yet. In a way, I understood that. The relationship we had was different than most of his family connections and his friendships. I may have been scrutinizing his academic work, but I never exactly "judged" him. I was an outsider helping him trace out his future in graphite, ink, and computer code, and Glenn, as a result, was extremely grateful for my presence.

The Fight by Belinda Roddie "Go to your room," my mother told me, her eyes swollen and black and blue. "He'll be back home any minute, and I don't want him to hurt you, too." I scrambled my way to my bedroom and blocked the door with my chair, splinters scraping against splinters as I knelt there, remembering my pearl rosary, and how to recite my prayers. He didn't come home that night, or the next night, or the next. They found him dead on the side of the road, asphyxiated on the vomit left in his drunken throat. And I had no regrets.

"My eyesight's been blurrier lately," mumbled Shay, taking off her glassed and vigorously rubbing her brow in exasperation. "The optometrist doesn't know what to make of it. There's no retinal detachment, no cataracts, no glaucoma, nothing. My eyes are beautifully healthy. But my vision's worse." I reached across the table and squeezed Shay's extended hand. "If you need anything," I whispered to her, "tell me. Even if it's a white cane." Sneering, Shay stretched out a free finger and jabbed me in the chin. "Bitch."