My Cardboard Balcony

I'm going to the Renaissance Faire tomorrow. My weekend has been made. That's all you need to know at this point in time. G'night, everyone!

They Call Me Fumes by Belinda Roddie "I leave a stink everywhere I go," he said smugly.

Shelby thought she was in control of the situation. She thought wrong. Now she was kneeling in the corner of the ramshackle room, watching helplessly as her colleagues came literally to blows. She didn't think she would ever have to hear the crunching of cartilage under fists, or smell the metallic tang of blood on the front of white and pink collared shirts. After a moment, she stood up shakily, walking to the desk to retrieve something sharp. She found a fountain pen, right as Tim was about to slam Alan's frail body into the center table.

The Day Is Long by Belinda Roddie The day is long, and I have gotten more exhausted with each tick of the wall clock, like a heart beat or wave against the shore in its incessant, loud tick-tock, tick-tock. I haven't eaten since fifteen past noon, and I can feel a squeezing in my head like I'm to be popped like a fat balloon and explode outward in a sea of red. Look, I am even becoming grotesque in my language because I am so worn down and mentally drained. I need to rest with a cider in my hand and a torn up sandwich in my stomach. Then, at last, on a warm bed with my lover I'll crash.

"I deserved the silent treatment, didn't I?" I was surprised to hear him say that, after all the weeks we didn't speak to each other. I didn't want to deal with him. His audacity was already uncharacteristic enough. I'd imagine him to be the type of guy who would shrug and walk away after an argument or a tense exchange. Not this boy. He was willing to guilt trip in front of me. Beg for forgiveness. See if we could forge something different. "Yeah," I replied. "Yeah, you did deserve it."

You Wanna See Angels by Belinda Roddie You can't make gold from sand, and you can't bury yourself on the moon. You wanna see angels perched on your window sill, whispering to you that there is a place in Heaven for you, as long as you'd just stay off the cheap beer and cigarettes for a couple more days.

Marcus was an overachiever, and so was Margaret. Max didn't care. She stood in the front yard as her siblings kept tucked away in their rooms, working on complicated calculus problems and massive history essays and God knows what else. Max wasn't interested in any of that. She just listened to music and smoked. Her mom was watching her outside the second story window. She didn't have to look behind her to know that. She was considering blowing the smoke right at her as a symbol of "Go away," but she understood, deep down, that it wouldn't deter an overly concerned parent.