My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie I would sit up late and watch videos of whales giving birth. Marco liked to find all of the glitches in video games. Shannon had a penchant for building action figures out of spoons and sticky hands and naming all of them Joseph. We all had our bizarre hobbies at the Slop House - which is what we called our townhouse just on the corner of downtown and the Tenderloin. When Oscar arrived as the fourth roommate, however, he said something that was very confusing. "I like running on a treadmill once in a while," he told me and my roommates over glasses of very watered down absinthe. "Can I have a treadmill in the living room?" We weren't sure what to think of it. The living room was Marco's space for all of his N64 and Playstation needs. Not to mention that the music Oscar liked to listen to was predominantly smooth jazz piano - which sounded way too melodic over the harsh shrieks of a bugging out Koopa on the NES. If he was going to...

Hannah finished the test with stunning accuracy, even though she took considerably more time than her classmates did. Still, she managed to turn the paper in right before the bell rang. She ignored the sneer of her teacher as he accepted her scribbles, equations, and notes. She ignored the stares from her peers as they waited outside for her, as if growing impatient of her own troubles. She didn't let any of that get to her. And when the A was delivered to her begrudgingly in the next week, she understood that it was worth the looks.

I really cannot be introspective right now. I just can't. I mean, I've been thinking about a lot of things. I've been discussing them with friends and loved ones. I've sometimes winced as I've looked at the world around me and how people are behaving in it. I have family members who are sad or scared or angry for lots of different reasons. And I just can't really vocalize any of it. There has been a lot happening all around, a lot of it not being so great, and that, added to my workload and the very large projects I need to finish up for my teaching credential in about a week and a half, just makes it very difficult to convey any part of my emotion or thoughts in a reasonably coherent way. So I'm not going to be really introspective tonight. Big surprise. At least I'm somewhat justified in bowing out tonight, rather than other nights when I've just been too tired or too lazy. I promise you all that after Thanksgiving, I will probably be feeli...

Ticket to Japan by Belinda Roddie Honey, does this sumo wrestling suit make me look fat?

Charlotte tried to augment the color of her painting by applying more oil, but the canvas only became messier, and she threw her brush at the neon mess in a mix of frustration and despair. Then she headed to the kitchen. The cabinet was glowing with the bronze and orange sheens of the liquor bottles, holding citrus and hazelnut secrets within their glassy throats and stomachs. Charlotte pulled off one of the stoppers and drank deeply, quietly debating whether or not she desired to create an entire art presentation out of brandy and triple sec.

Oh, Heaven Help by Belinda Roddie Oh, Heaven help the stranded refugees, who stand with branded names upon the shore. They're called terrorists and monstrosities, not welcome in this country anymore. We gobble fear down like an extra meal, washing the palate with cold ignorance, as fizzy as a beer. With greater zeal then ever before, we restart the dance of prejudice, of targeting the souls of war-torn, ravaged families abroad. Yet still we act like Christians while hate pulls at our cheekbones, removing the facade. Yes, Heaven help the refugees at last, whose final hopes have suddenly been dashed.

Lawrence held the paper in his hands and couldn't help creasing it in his rigid grip. This was not possible. Ten years after leaving the family to seek a life in New York, his brother George - or rather, his sister Georgia, as she preferred to be called - was suing him and his parents for emotional damage. He wanted to shred the letter with his bare fingers, rip it into pieces, but something - he couldn't ascertain as to what, exactly - stopped him from doing so.