My Cardboard Balcony

When I Couldn't Move to Canada by Belinda Roddie Disillusioned by my country, I sailed a boat to a coast where seashells cut the sky into strings of gold that grazed their ridges. I had the Atlantic breeze on my back, salt and sun and half-heartedly subdued sorrow, as I managed a trek to a village where a kettle of hot, strong tea awaited me, offered by a very kind woman in an old, black shawl. "There are lots of bullies where you come from," she remarked as I sipped the simmering brew, the skin on her lips peeling but not taking the shine away from her smile. "I should know. I have a television set." Bullies, yes. Red-faced and hungry for a future that I wanted no part of. Nor did they want me to share in it, either. I wrote a letter to my wife as soon as I could get my hands on a pen and paper. The one mailbox in the seaside town awaited its next meal, a feast of sentimentality and bloated apologies. I used the visage of a queen as ...

And that is why I don't have a OneWord post for y'all today.

I tied and untied and retied my shoelaces, over and over again, while the grandfather clock inhaled and exhaled in clicking bursts that rattled every curve and dent of my skull. When I finally stood up, I felt dizzy. I wobbled on my feet, navigating to a wall that would hold me up. Vertigo was one thing, but this felt entirely different. It was as if I were losing touch with gravity itself, and I risked floating off the planet and into the infinite blackness of space.

by Belinda Roddie He spent his last few dollars on tea and jam, and he hoped he wouldn't need anything else before getting home. Both were blackberry, by the way - blackberry tea and blackberry jam. He thought his mom would approve because when he was young, he would go blackberry picking with her, and they'd eat half of what they'd pluck from the prickly branches. They would also purposely run their stained fingers across each other's shirts, coloring them purple as if attempting to create some sort of natural tie dye. Nathan grimaced. He remembered that, while the gas tank on his car was mostly full, the tires were getting old and he'd have to replace them. Given the meager paychecks he received, he wasn't thrilled to spend a good chunk of it on new rubber. Still, he stayed positive that he wouldn't have any problems driving back to the dingy apartment that he shared with his half-brother. No flat tires, no skidding or hydroplaning while the rain came...

"Gentlemen!" crowed Huck, standing in front of the group with his heels clicking together. "I have just received a letter from the Duchess of Anders Row!" The men in top hats and tailcoats murmured and muttered as Huck tore open the envelope. Indeed, the paper had the official wax seal, and the penmanship certainly looked like it belonged to the fifty-seven-year-old noblewoman.

So I'm posting this past midnight on Saturday, but we're gonna count it for Friday's introspection, because I was out late and it's been a long, difficult, anxiety-filled week...with a good ending, of course. As most of you know by now, the presidential election has been taking a toll on me. Now, I'm not going to name names, considering that there miiiiiight be a candidate or two who would sic their lawyers on me if I got too nasty, but you don't have to be a genius to know what's going on in the United States and why it's such a big deal. Long story short: I'm embarrassed for my country and definitely worried about its future. I got so worried, in fact, that it nearly compromised me emotionally. I had crying fits, obsessively read articles, and constantly turned to friends and loved for consoling and affirmation. I thank everyone who was subjected to that, and I also apologize for making you deal with it. You are all saints. But fear not, those ...

Theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven by Belinda Roddie Blessed are those who buy me pizza and cold beer.