My Cardboard Balcony

Lungs by Belinda Roddie I lie in bed at night, and I am thankful for a great many things. However, I take for granted the mighty pouches of life stored behind my ribs, cycling air to make it nourishing. My blood is warmed to the melody of oxygen. I can breathe. I do not have to take my chances with a canister. I do not have to stop walking to ease the burn in my chest. I do not have to fear a chokehold, for many reasons. I am allowed to breathe. I am allowed to live. But he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. How many times did he have to gasp it to be spared? And how many times would I have had to say it before precious air returned to me, and my lungs cooperated, and the man in blue apologized? We are different, the dead and I - I get to lie in bed a...

The bear cub clung tightly to the rotting mouth of the tree, a slight trace of honey noticeable on its jowl. None of us tried to approach it - it was clearly scared, and very, very hungry. The ranger with us fidgeted with his walkie talkie before slipping behind another tree to talk with a cohort. "Where's its mom?" my son asked, practically attached to the crook of my elbow. "I don't know, Jim," I replied, "but we mustn't interfere."

More Sage Advice by Belinda Roddie Do not chew charcoal after midnight - you will not start a fire. Remember to set your clocks back so Father Time can take a longer nap. He is old and fragile, and his yarn fingers are fraying at the edges. He can't hold his staff as well anymore. If you find a tiger without stripes, fetch a bucket and some paint. She will thank you for the temporary relief to her identity crisis. Before you go gray, drink the elixir of youth from a can. They are packaging it for cheap now, but only for those who are still baby-faced. Not even the sprightly can sip if they show wrinkles in their smiles.

No OneWord update today. We'll see about tomorrow.

Helium by Belinda Roddie All the balloons floated away in a stream of molten lava flight. And merry-go-rounds became paralyzed in dying starlight. There was a speck of something hot on the side of the moon's bulbous cheek. It had been chewing up the cosmic scenery, sparks flying in between bites. The carnival had come to town, but few had bothered to attend. I was left behind in the funnel cake line when your shift had reached its end. You wore your flannel jacket when you took me to where the fireworks turned into constellations. There, I traced a belt of my own. You cinched it for me, hands on my waist, kissing me and making me want to float away.

"Behold!" screeched Mallory. "The evil fiery pit of doooom!" She was, of course, referring to the red blanket that she had bunched up on the living room floor, which she waved her wand over. Oliver, her brother, was shaking with dramatic trepidation. He pushed his plastic crown aside, frowned, and waved a finger at Mallory. "You may try to stop me, sorceress," he cried, fully in character, "but you will not stop me from saving the prince!"

"It's almost December!" squealed Cherry. "Let's make a fort! Let's roast marshmallows! Let's buy a Christmas tree!" I could not help chuckling as my niece bounced around the room, making suggestion after suggestion for wintry festivities. Outside, the autumn was still lingering, discolored leaves still descending from the trees' branches. Snow had not yet fallen.