My Cardboard Balcony

Green Dream Machine by Belinda Roddie Leprechaun was hitting on my friend all night, so I dunked his tiny head into a tankard of beer. He spluttered slurred, brogue expletives, but I didn't care. "Green dream machine,"as he called himself, could shove his pot of gold where the sun don't shine.

If anyone goofed, all of their hard work could come undone. That was why everyone was so tense. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room. Palms were moist and damp with cold sweat, breath bursting in short, small spurts from colleagues' mouths. Everyone watched as one person moved, fingers shaking, to add the next part of their project into action. Everyone watched as the ace of spades settled against the king of hearts. The card tower remained intact.

Wealthy Neighbors by Belinda Roddie The silver fence between you and me gets higher by the day, yet its tempting gleam stops us from breaking it down into shards with hammers. We use the slats between each precious plank to pass notes, birthday cards. I miss when the fence was low enough for me to offer you a cup of tea. My husband, when we bought this house, first wanted the fence to be carved from gold. And he wanted it fifty feet high so we were surrounded by gilded dreams to hide our guilty pleasures. Now that spring is here and the heat waves are impending, I stay in the shade that the silver provides. Yet the metal is hot, so I cannot slide my fingers through to touch your cooler skin on the other side.

"Have you seen my Gamecube controller?" asked Rachel. "That? Oh. Yeah, I threw it away." "WHAT?!" "The dog got a hold of the cord, and, well, let's just say if you plugged that in, either it wouldn't work or we'd have a fire hazard." "Great," groaned Rachel. "Now I'm going to have to drop fifty bucks on an Amazon order just to play Super Smash Bros. freakin' Melee!" Her mom sighed. "Life's hard, isn't it, kid?"

"Panda paw!" my fiancée squeals to me, as she runs her hand across the side of my face, a bizarre yet laugh-inducing gesture of affection. I know she's doing it to make me feel better - I have had a rough beginning to the year, and all I want to do is actually make money while also continuing to write and sing and work on what I love. Sometimes, it's all a daunting task. Sometimes, it's all made lighter by a simple silly touch from the love of my life.

by Belinda Roddie She wasn't sure what was more offensive: the notion that he thought she needed rescuing, or that he had only thought to arm himself with a crescent wrench. Either way, the Soviets were closing in, and she had her semi-automatic ready to go. "I am egregiously ill-equipped, aren't I?" Jason asked, unable to reduce the quivering in his voice. "Stand back," Sara growled, lifting the cold snout of her firearm and pointing it at the nearest KGB officer. "I'll handle this." *** "And she gave you a D for it?" Hannah laughed. She snapped open a can of sodaand drank it warm. " 'Grossly historically inaccurate and asinine,'" she announced. "Her words exactly." "I thought this was a creative writing class? Not a control freak workshop?" "Hey, she liked the scene with the dictator, at least." Hannah had written an alternate reality story about a prev...

"All right! Who's in charge here?" "Willoughby, sir!" the soldiers chorused. "Willoughby's been dead since Tuesday, you fools!" snarled the sergeant. "Who's in charge now?" "Um...that'd be you, then, I suppose."