My Cardboard Balcony

The priest at my church called the youth group the "new flock," which felt so odd and awkward to me. It was like we were all impressionable lambs, ready to be religiously molded into bleating, compliant sheep. I know what Father Hendricks was attempting to do; he was trying to bring Jesus's own words into our activities. He was the shepherd of his people, after all. But I still didn't like the idea of being shaped into an obedient cattle animal.

by Belinda Roddie A sickening crash shook Devon's helicopter, and she watched as the streets below her erupted in gunfire. "Fucking Mondays," she sighed. She reached into the small paper bag she kept bunched up against her right ankle and produced a sandwich wrapped up in foil. Freeing it from its plastic prison, she took a big bite and let the mustard and pastrami tickle her tongue with spiciness, just as the APF began moving in to clean up the mess. Down in the murky metropolis of New Chicago, people were attempting to cook up another war, sort of like throwing rotten potatoes into a pot and seeing if it would make a good soup. The APF - "Android Pigfuckers," the rioters called them, rather than "Android Police Force" - were certainly more efficient than their human counterparts. Yes, there were still real men and women who joined the authoritarian fight, though they were often discredited for their more emotional drawbacks and lack of agility ...

The doctor told us that Sasha should make a full recovery in two weeks. Until then, all we could do was spend time with her. Sasha's older brother, Cole, had just returned from a six month tour in Afghanistan. He never wanted to leave her side. He brought her a vase of tulips and left them by her hospital bed, and one night, I caught him singing a made up little ditty to get her to sleep. It was like they were young again, sledding in the mountains and smiling arm in arm.

Go Set A Watchman "The challenge to our conscience" by Belinda Roddie A review in lieu of an introspection. WARNING: Spoilers Ahead! There's a certain mood set in the United States these days that has severely polarized the population. Namely, we are told to think in extremes: We are either with the enemy or against the enemy, right wing or left wing, bigoted or tolerant. We are living in the generation of no in-betweens, and we are expected to feel strongly one way or the other. We are told to pick a side, pulled from one end of the idealistic spectrum to the other in a massive mental and emotional tug-of-war, and when that happens, we risk losing our own ideas or sense of self. Consequently, it is not easy to read Go Set A Watchman , the long-awaited sequel of To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee, with an open mind. From the beginning, before the publication date, readers were being told what to think about the new novel, and all without reading even the first...

Breathing in Brine by Belinda Roddie When I sneeze, pickle juice comes out of my nose.

As I waited for my photos to develop, I walked down to the clothing section and started taking a look at the men's jackets and shirts. I knew that trying to find a suit that actually fit me was somewhat of a lost cause. Anything I bought here would have to be altered, and drastically, to fit the bumps and curves of my body that most boys didn't have. "Good thing I've got a knack for sewing and tailoring," I said to myself, smiling as I remembered my kit nestled in the corner of my bedroom at home. I picked up a particularly cool blue sports coat and held it against my chest.

The Seventeen Sergeants by Belinda Roddie The seventeen sergeants all lined up with the seventeen lieutenants in two rows, so that the major general could spit and spew his mantras in a vicious flow that never seemed to end. They were dismissed and congregated in the dark mess hall to eat their bowls of beans and drink the piss- colored beer in gray cans. But after all the men and women were done with their meals, the seventeenth lieutenant brought a jug of raspberry wine out. Two more played reels on fiddles, and the seventeenth sarge shrugged and decided to dance. It was a grand time for thirty-four soldiers to command.