My Cardboard Balcony

Limited Resources by Belinda Roddie They've stored the last of grace in bottles, for richer men to drink. I've lost a friend or two to indulgence, but I'll take a tray to them regardless. Vial after vial of prayers from pews, swirling in glass and sour in taste. I'll pour them new doses if the words don't feel honest enough, to give souls a boost  when salvation is scarce.

It was hot, it was humid, and it was hostile. No one wanted to leave their respective corners. They drank their beers ice cold to keep their inner temperatures chilled. They wore caps soaked with faucet water to keep their foreheads damp and sweat-free. Outside, the breeze was weak, and the sun overbearing. We had brought this on ourselves. Now we simply sat through the consequences, consuming whatever crumbs were left over.

The pursuit of happiness is a horrid abstract - implausible, insurmountable, and utterly insane. Happiness, in the same vein, is relevant, and how one pursues it is entirely dependent on one's circumstances. Sometimes, happiness may be reeled in by a fishing line. Other times, it is caught by a net, or a mousetrap, or the metal jaws unwelcoming to a bear.

by Belinda Roddie The very air you breathe is a lie. It poisons you, bit by bit, until you feel yourself reeling, off-kilter, into the nearest coffee table with your lopsided drink spilling across your perfectly white shirt. Your perfectly pure, chaste white shirt. Not to say that there is a better alternative. It is like drinking a slower poison. You would rather go with the carcinogen than the cyanide. And in the end, it becomes addicting. You don't know when to quit the toxic binge. You know that if you stop, you will die. But you will die anyway, if you keep going. You take a drag of the cigarette. Only the cigarette is not comprised of vicious chemicals. It is oxygen and carbon dioxide. It is car exhaust and tree exhalations. It is kisses, alcohol, and food. It is radiation. It is sunlight. It is the moon and the stars, All shining upon you and soaking your skin with all the stigmas of the universe. And it is all so damn beautiful! But the most stunning eleme...

Small, silver spikes dotted the collar of Celeste's jacket, as she pulled at the fraying threads of her fingerless black gloves. She was nervous - I could tell. From the way she fiddled with loose strings on her clothes to the way she smoothed back her very short hair, she was probably wondering why she was even tolerating being in the same room as I was without cracking. I knew she wanted me, just as badly as I wanted her.

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...