My Cardboard Balcony

Patriotic Couple by Belinda Roddie Can I call you on Thomas Jefferson's birthday? See the Declaration I've hammered into your front door. Its parchment's a little old, but the text on it's still gold. I'll buy you fireworks on Thomas Jefferson's birthday.

"You're a bit touchy today,aren't you?" "Touchy?" I spat. "That's how you'd describe it? How about angry? Pissed off? About to rip your head off those fucking pasty shoulders of yours!" The scrawny white dude in the baseball cap backed off after that, and my girlfriend, beautiful and bold, came back to the stool that I had left vacant for her. Her red lips left a tint even on my dark skin. "Someone bothering you? I can kill them, if you'd like."

"Goodness!" squeaked Mrs. Tawdry, wobbling on her too high heels, her little terrier oddly silent as it leaned against her ankle. "That house on the hill sure is mysterious, isn't it?" I smiled and shook my head. Bowser, my adorable boxer, lay at my feet. "No, ma'am," I replied. "In fact, that house happens to be owned by my uncle. Wonderful man. Collects gems." "Mysterious gems?" "No, not exactly."

Please Rise For Our National Anthem by Belinda Roddie This just in from my corner of the world I see stars and stripes but not much patriotism There's fire burning deep in my stomach like whiskey I can feel my skin steaming like I'm on the grill of a Fourth of July barbecue It's colder here than up north but warmer than back east I'm not trying to sound superior but the heroes are wearing clown make-up instead of war paint and the oils are dripping like black and white tears - it's a bit embarrassing to watch

OneWord.com happened to be updated with April 10th's word on the 11th, so maybe that's why we didn't have another one today. Oh, well!

"I'm not asking for much out of life," said my brother. "Income stability, an apartment that isn't covered with mold, a girlfriend who actually goes to night school when she says she does and not to another guy's house for sexy times. That's not an excessive request, is it?" I shook my head. "Forget short end of the stick, bro - you were given something else entirely different than the stick."

by Belinda Roddie At the park by the beach, golden hour wasn't just a tint; it was laid on in sheets. We drank whiskey in that celestial glow, the blankets of solar equilibrium covering our shoulders, yet they never carried too much weight. I felt as if I could breathe fire in the aura of dusk: Torrents of dragon's breath, a moment in which I wasn't just human anymore; I was a creature that only the best authors could portray in an accurate and effective way. I felt as if I had ascended to something beyond my human shell, but in the end, it was all superficial drivel. Beach towels in rainbow neon flare on the sand. Castles built only to be destroyed by salt and foam. The park wasn't any better - artificial grass was green enough to make me head hurt. The slides that the children glided out were filled with static electricity, jolting every bystander with a current that never seemed to bring any enlightenment. When I managed to walk back to my car without hur...