My Cardboard Balcony

They say the mighty will fall, and the weak shall inherit the earth. I think all of them needs to go back to school to study basic science and anatomy. The weak can’t inherit squat. They’re weak . I mean, how else could you explain my continual success as a human being? I am one of the mighty. I have inherited the earth. I have minions to do my bidding, and I don’t fall victim to the stupid villain tropes like explaining one’s evil plan in great detail. You know what that would make me if I did that? Weak.

by Belinda Roddie The sun illuminated her head like a halo as she stood outside the waffle house, her hands folded across her lap as she seemed to blissfully ignore the cooling cup of coffee in front of her. To her left was an absolute clusterfuck of motorcycles, the occasional car driver cursing from his open window as he tried and fail to find a way to park among the tiny vehicles. To her right, two teenage girls held hands and chewed gum and they checked their phones and blew each other's kisses when they thought no one was looking. She was looking, though. She was impressed by their audacity to show off their affection in this dirty asshole of a Texas town. When the waiter went to pick up her check, she grabbed his hand and held him there. As he began to sweat, she leaned toward his ear and whispered two words. No sooner had her lips stopped fluttering did a truck swerve into the mess of motorbikes, burst into flame, and seem to glow brighter than the giant orb of energy a...

There was a deafening crack, and when my ears stopped ringing, I then heard a scream. The composer lay on the floor, clutching at his chest, his hair somewhat singed. At first, I thought he had been struck by lightning. However, something told me otherwise. "Did you just try to stick something metal into the light socket?" demanded the trombone player, putting her hands on her hips. The composer gurgled in response.

Welp, this fall is going to be jam-packed with all sorts of school and work stuff. I was just placed at a local high school for my class observation and student teaching. My newest teaching job is in full swing. I am still working part time at the bookstore. I still have my freelance transcription job. I'm still writing. I'm still planning my wedding. Whether or not I'll still have a social life, I can't say. Hell, I don't even know how much I'll be able to sleep. The good news is, I have a few months to go with the flow and prepare things. Of course, I'm getting antsy about a potential scholarship or extra grants, which I absolutely need in order to continue my credential program. My sister is moving to Philadelphia with her boyfriend at the end of June, so that means it might just be me and my fiancée in our apartment unless one of our friends is in dire need of a room. Apartments are pretty damn expensive now in our city, so we may not even move even th...

Three Wishes and a Can of Beer When I burped, a genie popped out of my mouth.

There were two conditions to the contract that the general laid out for both me and my comrade. The first was this: We were expected not to deliver any information to the outside world. We could not contact anyone who lay beyond the vicinity, nor anyone who had not expressed loyalty by signing the same contract. The second was as follows: Do not, under any circumstances, draw attention to oneself in a negative, or hostile, way.

The Ump Received by Belinda Roddie The ump received a wild pitch to the face and fell into a crumpled, messy heap, though the batter at first stole second base and most of the crowd had fallen asleep. The pitcher lowered his arm and looked down upon the ump, who bled from his right eye and mumbled gibberish like a drunk clown. "Should we call 911?" the catcher cried. The pitcher yanked at his mitt, bit his lip, and suddenly broke into a fast sprint off of the mound and just managed to slip into the dug-out without a mere glint of the team manager's eye. So the ump simply lay there. Strike three to the old lump.