My Cardboard Balcony

My Gift by Belinda Roddie The first time I heard music, I saw color. Green for F, blue for G, with the chromatic blurring in dark purples and grays when I could not comprehend the delicate skeleton of sound. As I got older, it became clearer: Everything was absolute. Caress the piano, and I could identify each separate sigh perfectly without looking at where the fingers of my accompanist lay. The flats and the sharps, the majors and the minors. Vinegar and oil, water and salt. The seasonings of melodies. I did not need a starting tone to get the pitch I wanted. When I turned twenty-five, things became slightly distorted. It was as if a knife already with a bite had been needlessly sharpened further. Every step on the staircase started to blend together. Flats were naturals; naturals were sharps. The congestion in my ears led to an unwanted, "heightened" state of being. It wasn't always noticeable, no - most of the time, all was well, and I ...

Joseph rented the apartment from his uncle for two years. After that, he bought himself a trailer home, traveled around the country a good five times, and finally settled on a blank space of land a mere three or so miles away from civilization. He was fine without running water, or electricity. He would always walk to the general store for things to eat. Potato chips, pretzels, made-to-go sandwiches. It got to the point that his poor, embarrassed uncle offered the apartment back for free, which Joseph of course declined.

No OneWord update today. I don't mind. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

by Belinda Roddie The taste of bitter chocolate always lingered in Dorothy's mouth, no matter what she ate or drank. It never went away. And the truth was, she hadn't touched chocolate in over twenty-three years. The twenty-fourth year was looming closer. And yet the flavor of dark cacao remained on her tongue. She brewed herself a cup of tasteless broth that she supposed was meant to be tea and sat down across from the ashy hearth. On the mantel was a picture of her son, in full Marine uniform. Lester had loved chocolate. It had practically been his three meals a day when he was a child. Once, when Dorothy had sifted through her heavy collection of photo albums, she had found a black and white shot of Lester at the tender age of six, the corners of his lips browned by a milkshake at The Fat Walrus, the local diner. She distinctly remembered one of his favorite pastimes before deciding to shape up for the military: Sitting on the couch watching TV, pouring tube after tube...

After Lisa's father died just before midnight on New Year's Eve, the entire family was devastated, but none as much as, of course, Lisa. It took three weeks for her to step out of her room, and another two to go outside. By the time I received a text from her, I was beginning to wonder if she had grown thinner or more pale. I was surprised that, when we met in front of the mall, she was just as plump and rosy as ever. But her eyes were certainly not as bright.

Because it is late and I am tired and full of useless anxiety, I'm just going to put up some words from my Facebook in regards to the new year: To keep it short and sweet: 2014 was a rather successful year for me, I'd say. Holding down a steady job, enrolling in a teaching credential program, and getting engaged to the love of my life aren't things to sneeze at. But it has not been an easy year, not for a lot of people I'm close to and especially not in a lot of ways globally and societally. So I say to you all, Happy New Year - I can only hope that 2015 is a better year not just for my loved ones, but also for the world as a whole. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

The Pit by Belinda Roddie It was dark, and I thought I smelled body odor.