My Cardboard Balcony

Student teaching. Teaching at Fusion. Started Sonoma State classes. Saw my fiancée do a terrific job as Hermia in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'm tired and I have a lot of work to do, friends. Have a great night and a great weekend.

Narcissus, Is That You? by Belinda Roddie I looked at my reflection. It blew me a kiss.

"Are you anywhere near the stadium?" "Nope," I sighed, taking my hand off the steering wheel in order to adjust my earpiece. In front of, a red van's horn was squealing. "The traffic's all gridlocked. It's like a parking lot here." "What the Hell happened?" "I don't know, but I'm about to find out." It turned out that an accident had blocked every single lane - two trucks, two cars, one motorcyclist. Guess which one had been killed on impact.

It's Happening by Belinda Roddie It's happening again - I feel my bones contorting as I hunch over the bed, the pain cutting through me like sharpened stones, the pins and needles stabbing at my head. Once in a while, my humanity tries to flee, and I become a feral beast, the transformation leading to my cries of anguish and denial. I at least deserve to be a man, without a curse mutating me into something bizarre, or frightening, or nightmarish, or worse, but no, this has to be the way things are. My words become gibberish on my tongue, and growls and howls escape from my scorched lungs.

"Could you show me to your best available room?" "Gladly," replied the clerk behind the counter, and within minutes, I was standing in the largest, airiest penthouse on the twentieth floor of Statesman Hotel. I set down my suitcase and wandered toward the center of the room, looking toward the window that appeared to envelope me with its glassy gaze. Outside were the skyscrapers and business building and mountains on the horizon - all capped with gold dust because the sun was beginning to set.

The Immortal Headmaster by Belinda Roddie At the old schoolhouse, children gather in scuttling clumps on the tile floor, scooping up clay and pinching it between their fingers, rolling it up into miniature planets to be launched into space, orbiting their own private sun. One of the teachers coughs and scratches at his large, reddened nose. Traces of white still linger on the rusty rims of his nostrils. My blazer pockets are filled with painkillers, since the bottle that had once cradled them cracked and set them free. They are cold against my knuckles. I could eat those blue gelatin capsules like candy if I wanted to - my head hurts enough for it. I suppose a schoolmaster's thoughts are supposed to squeal against the membrane of a feeble brain, to remind me that I'm still alive and in charge. We love our old schoolhouse: Its splintered doors, its greasy windows, its Gothic panes leading into Poe-esque corridors where imaginary monsters dissipate at ...

Everyone tried to tell me that I was a monster, but just because I looked like one didn't mean I actually was one. Still, for the sake of everyone's sanity and happiness, I remained in my bedroom until it got dark out, and only once I wrapped myself up in gauze and scarves and a worn out hoodie did I go outside, dragging my right leg behind me just a little bit, the way I always did. It was always cold out to me, regardless of the season, so I didn't mind bundling up - it was a win for me and a win for everyone else's sore eyes.