My Cardboard Balcony

Steadfast and stubborn, the Angela III pushed furiously against the storm. Its captain, true to her word, kept her post at the wheel, despite the wave upon wave of overly salted water soaking her through her majestic coat and breeches. To the east was her sister ship, the Annamarie , bobbing up and down in the swarm of water and struggling desperately to remain upright.

by Belinda Roddie She woke up thinking, "I'm still here. I'm still here in this God forsaken cottage, in this God forsaken village, in the middle of God forsaken nowhere. I don't know why I am still alive, or moving forward. I don't know what the point of this entire expedition is anymore." And truth be told, she couldn't blame herself for those thoughts. With Mistress Kor gone and home being farther and farther away, everything the team had accomplished - or more significantly, hadn't accomplished - was becoming more and more vivid. They had avoided nasty confrontations with the Mischiefs, destroyed haphazardly constructed barracks, escaped being eaten by swamp monsters, climbed a mountain that had almost cost Barkelee's life, sailed a ship that had also almost cost Barkelee's life, fought off brutes that had cost Quinoni vision in her left eye, and been declared Chosen Ones by the Creeback people, just before Mistress Kor had been snatc...

It was a cyclical kind of relationship. The kind in which bruises became tattoos, of spider webs specifically, branching out into brand new spindles of aggression and fear. The kind in which the color of the iris was not noted, but the ring of black surrounding it. The kind in which, if enough amber was imbibed, the flurry of fists would become blurred, and if it couldn't be remembered that someone was assaulted, well, did it really happen, then?

...I've got nothing, guys. I'm sorry. Just the same old, same old. But hey, Halloween's coming up, and that's my favorite holiday! So that's cool. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and Thanksgiving, but Halloween's my favorite. PlusIgettobeFlynnRiderthisyeartomyfiancée'sRapunzel I mean, what? Nothing. You'll see. Also, go, Giants. My baseball team's heading to the World Series for the third time in five years. Awesome. Anyway. Have a great night and a great weekend and all that fun stuff, people. Love ya!

Satan's Son Eats His Lunch by Belinda Roddie Damien was getting hungry. Time to devour some more souls.

I didn't know if I was more attuned to Lindsay's feelings than Alice ever was, but Lindsay loved to tell me that I was "one of the few people" who understood her. I could see how her relationship with Alice was deteriorating, and in all honesty, it nearly broke my heart. Alice was a wonderful woman - passionate, kind, intelligent - but she just didn't seem to get her own girlfriend. And even I couldn't even figure out why.

My Hands Are Cold by Belinda Roddie My hands are cold despite the summer heat, and I cannot find someone to warm them, to kiss them when they tremble, to rub them dry when a humid rain has soaked them through. My fingers usually are numb, so I can't feel much when I hold things or brush the surfaces of things. When I touched your face for the first time, I thought at last I knew what warmth was like. I thought that color would flood into my palms, reddening my skin and making me as sanguine as a child, hot and giggly and sweltering in June. Alas, you left me even colder still. Not even scorchers take away the chill.