My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie NOTE: As part of a lesson I taught one of my students, I typed a second response to the OneWord prompt "Achiever," which was from September 23rd. After this, I proceeded to expand the story a bit more. While again, this is not your run-of-the-mill Storyteller, it is a chance for me to show off a slightly different pattern in my writing - as well as show how tempting it is to add even more to a completed OneWord blurb. Enjoy. In order to be an achiever at anything, you must first learn to care. For Thomas Estrel, caring was not exactly a quality he necessarily shared with his peers. In fact, he was superb in the peculiar, yet understandable, art of apathy. Every day, when he went to school and went from school, you could find him with his flat gray cap lopsided on his head, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and an unlit cigarette drooping from his lower lip. Not because he was trying to be artistic, but because he typically forgot his li...

"Excuse me, boy!" barked the lady from the counter. "I ordered this without mustard. Without! Can't you get anything right?" I stared as my coworker blushed a darker red than I ever thought scientifically possible. It was clear that he had some sort of mental disability, and I knew he was trying his damn hardest. So I reached over, snatched the burger from the woman's fingers, and snapped, "Here, we'll fix it. But could you go a little easy on one of my best employees?"

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."