My Cardboard Balcony

My Massage by Belinda Roddie You push your hands into my back, and the sounds I make almost echo in the dim, dome-shaped chamber of my mind, rising up and down like murmurs from a pleasant sea, your knuckles molding the flesh on my back like dough refusing to turn into bread. I have lost weight recently, and grown stronger, so the muscles in my shoulders have become tighter, like a rope being coiled and knotted, coiled and knotted, over and over in a prickly row. You smooth out my rough edges, let your fingers send firecrackers up and down my arms, and kiss me gently to remind me of where I am, and who I will be, and how much I adore you through it all.

"She's a witch! A witch! Burn her!" "Shut up, Chad," snapped Alex, before she cast a coy glance at Tiffany. Tiffany cradled the game controller in her hands like it belonged there. "So, not too bad at Smash, are ya?" Tiffany smiled beneath her blonde braid. "I mopped the floor with you, hon." "I'll let you mop the floor with me any day," Alex replied, winking as she lifted her baseball cap from her eyes.

Crystal Walls by Belinda Roddie Eventually, you'll drill a hole in your glass dome to let the light in a little more, and you'll slurp the fresh air through a straw and sigh, "Damn, that hits the spot."

He braided her hair, and he painted her nails. She taught him to throw a football and hit a home run. He gave her make-up tips in exchange for trips to the ballpark, where they'd watch the home team fail and fail again to achieve a win. She wanted to be feminine; he wanted to be masculine. They figured that they should help each other, even though it wasn't really beneficial to either of their real identities.

St. Patrick Doesn't Live On Mars by Belinda Roddie Sitting atop a Catholic spire, I try to paint the sky white with my fingers. I want to erase all the color so I can see clear to outer space, out where a lovely lady sits in a spaceship and carries a Bible with no God, but wow, does it preach love, love, love. I cough and wince as my spittle flies. I hate that I spray rainbows everywhere. Just walking downtown, I leave neon footprints on the dark, cracked asphalt. I want to find a radio and tune it to just the right station, where my alien paramour waits to communicate, her language mingling beautifully with mine, eventually sounding alike and meaning the same thing: Love, love, love.

"You are seriously disturbed." "No." My voice sounded foreign to me. Half-garbled, half-growl. "I am enlightened. I see the world as it is, not as I desire. Even the colors are different now. Their real shades. Not to be described by petty language." "You need help." "Shut up!" I snarled. I grabbed his arm. "You speak from ignorance! I will teach you to speak from the highest pinnacle of knowledge."

"You guys are actually related?" My brother sighed, and I rolled my eyes. "Yes," I repeated myself for what must have been the fifth time today. This party was not going to end any time soon. Everyone I met seemed to think that my bro and I were an item. Never mind the fact that I was gay and my brother was so asexual it wasn't even funny. Not even aesthetic on a guy or girl did anything for him. He just liked living the single life and enjoying his hobbies and passions and friends without any romantic or lustful interference.