My Cardboard Balcony

There was no tiger burning bright in the forest of the night. In fact, there was no light at all. The fearful symmetry that William Blake had described so simply and so perfectly were in the trees, the outlining of the night sky like a mathematical equation forming a fearsome face. We all stood together in the clearing and looked out toward the circle of leaves and branches around us. We could see no exit, and this was no maze, either. Yet we were still trapped within the humid, toxic darkness.

by Belinda Roddie "The baby was born a clown." "Really? That's your best scary six word story?" "Oh, c'mon, dude. He was born a clown. Not only is it scary, it's a wretched existence." "I know the jello shots in skull glasses were a bad idea." "Okay, then. You got a better six word spooky story? Tell me." "I will." "Go ahead!" "Shut up first!" "..." "All of your booze is gone." "...What?" "All of your booze is gone." " What?!" "That's it, John! That's my scary six word story!" " Are you serious?" "Um, yeah?" " Why is the booze gone?!" "Wha - dude! It's not gone!" " Not the booze!" "It's not gone! It was just my story!" " GIVE ME MY BOOZE!" "I will knock you down with my plastic baton, man!"...

As the trick-or-treaters reached toward the dish of candy, Missus Lancaster realized that something was very awry. There seemed to be a cold wind blowing from the clustered group of little costumed crusaders, the way it billowed across their capes and gowns and chilled the air in front of them. Watching as Charles from two houses down snatched a handful of mini-Snickers, Missus Lancaster was mute as the nine-year-old boy peered at her with a fanged smile and said, "Happy Halloween!" in an animalistic, very not human snarl.

It's the night before Halloween. I'm sitting at my computer, having just pulverized ten mini Hershey's nuggets and downed them with a glass of iced butterscotch schnapps. Beside me, my fiancée is watching a Youtube video of some kind from a creator I do not follow. I've just finished up listening to the audio of someone performing some sort of monologue/observation written by a mutual friend on Facebook. Sadly enough, the pattern's gotten into my head, and it's almost like I'm trying to emulate it. Copycat. Something I desperately try not to be. I have plans for tomorrow. Good plans. First, I teach. I work with two students every Saturday. The first is younger, middle school age. She has a hard time with social studies. Not so much of a hard time with martial arts. I never learned martial arts. One thing I do regret. The other student is older. Sixteen or so. He's a good writer, but disorganized. Last time I saw him, we went through a whole essay writi...

The Trick-Or-Treater by Belinda Roddie Jack had a lantern, all right - but not a head.

Before I could beg her to stop, my mother had ripped the drawers straight out of my dresser and began to rifle through them. With each scratching noise she made as she rummaged through my things, I could feel my throat constrict. I screamed at her, grabbed her arm and started to cry. But she would not stop. Not until she found exactly what she wanted, strike me across the face, and find a reason to kick me out.

Jason, I Think by Belinda Roddie Jason, I think we need to talk about your multitude of problems. Don't you see how much you're hurting yourself and your friends, how much you're hurting your poor family? The trouble is you drink too much, and then you get into fights - big ones - all the time with guys who are much stronger than you. When you're wasted, you then turn to drugs and crime; honey, you tried to rob a bank two days ago while you were high on some bath salts! When you were caught, you screamed, "I blame the gays!" before asking the male cop for a waltz. This is more than just a slippery slope. In fact, I'd say, Jason, there's no more hope.