My Cardboard Balcony

It's been a night. It's been a night of both status quo and intense change. It's been a night of games, laughter, and blackberry beer (too sweet for my tastes, but worth a try). It's been a night that's been resonant of a week of confusion, stress, surprise, and, ultimately, hope. I am not going into detail about what exemplifies said hope. However, sometimes change is the most hope one can receive. Change is terrifying, but exciting. It usually involves meeting new people, trying new things, and forming new relationships. I have no idea whether or not these changes will result in more good than bad. But a girl can hope, correct? For now, there are some constants. There are my credential classes and my writing. There are my engagement, my family, and my friendships. But a lot is in flux, and I'm excited to see what will come of said development, in my work and in other areas. I hope that, for those of you whose lives are in perpetual flux, that you will find...

NOTE: This is the fifth full-act play I ever wrote, at the age of twenty, while studying abroad at the University of Limerick in Ireland. While I believe it is the weakest of my plays, I am proud of some of the language in it and wanted to share it. This is Act I of the play. Enjoy. Dialogue With A Marionette: A Play In Two Acts by Belinda Roddie CAST (in order of appearance) NEMO, an Irish prophet of death EMACIATED WOMAN, an overused symbol of Ireland ELLEN D. GOAT, a soul collector JONATHAN C. RAM, a soul collector MORDREN, the daughter of the Grim Reaper TERRY MONAGHAN, an Irish senator NELL MONAGHAN, his wife CHARLES HAMILTON, an Irish senator ANNE HAMILTON, his wife DONAL PETERS, an Irish professor and Sean’s closest friend SEAN DOYLE, a former Irish senator ENSEMBLE SETTING The Other World Ireland WRITER’S NOTE: All stage directions and emotions listed in this script are open for suggestion. Altering them should not decrease the caliber o...

Nothin' today. Maybe tomorrow!

The Spirits Five by Belinda Roddie The spirits five looked down upon the earth, assessing each part of their protocol. The first spirit was valuing the worth of creatures, while the second counted all the trees and plants. The third was more concerned with oceans, rivers, the liquid of life that glistened blue. The fourth spirit's eyes burned as he recalled civilization's strife, tallying casualties per century and reminding the others of the cost of extinction. The fifth one, finally, kept her eyes closed, all weary dreaming lost to a single rose petal, a soft breath, one last "I love you" before meeting death.

The compliments that Helen was given toward the end of her shift left her absolutely glowing. She had not felt so fulfilled and so elated since her wedding, or even since the birth of her first child. She happily sashayed to the back counter, humming a made-up tune to herself as she scribbled one last order of the night down on a pad. "Someone's on Cloud Nine," one of the chefs laughed, watching as the waitress brushed a strand of gray hair from her forehead while she hummed a little bit louder.

Paying Customer by Belinda Roddie A dozen strangers around me stir sticks into lukewarm brew, the tea too steeped, the sugar too sweet, the coffee too weak, and the entire atmosphere lacking heat. I sit in the corner with a lost boy book, where the crumbs settle against my half-eaten fingernails - neither savory, neither satisfying. A worker confronts me. He asks me if I am to order a cup of potion to calm my nerves. If not, I must soothe myself elsewhere, with softer attitudes and dimmer expectations. "Have you read this book?" I ask, and my voice has a pulse. "There is death, but there is also hope." He ignores the sentiment of a reader. I find a seat outside. The wind is cold, the pavement scorching. Words are absent, the print faded. The ink becomes hard to scour, and I am desperate for strangers.

Her cat brushed against my shoulder and issued an exasperated meow, but I was too busy staring at the screen to pay attention. The accident had been very close to the apartment, and the description of the wrecked car was just like her. I felt two of my fingers slip into my mouth, my teeth scraping at my raw cuticles as I waited for any new update to emerge. But nothing. I prayed it wasn't her.