My Cardboard Balcony

Sitting on the bus at seven am, I watched the wet sky from the window above my head. An old man had soaked his shorts while screaming on a cellphone that probably didn't have someone talking on the other end. Two young girls were quietly sitting across the aisle from me, sharing a small bag of chocolate candies, carefully selecting their favorite colors and meting out quantities as if they were an assembly line. And their mother sat in front of them, knitting, singing a song in Spanish under her breath as if trying to soothe her own mind with a lullaby.

by Belinda Roddie The silk pooled like blood at her feet. She hugged the pillow, gripping it tightly enough so that her whitening fingers disappeared into its fleshy folds, like she was squeezing an animal to death. In front of me, the man lay quietly, the red still trickling from his forehead like dark drops of wine. She hadn't meant to hit him so hard. She thought the glass would shatter into tiny little pieces, yielding to the sturdiness of the man's skull. She thought, perhaps, she'd miss, or he'd slip out of the way, before he wrestled her to the floor again. Putting his hands into hers, his mouth on hers, his everything on hers. Smearing her lipstick. Also red. But she had not expected him to fall like that, to crumple like a wet towel descending sadly from its metal rack. She hadn't expected him to bleed. Gathering her senses, she let the hem of her gown brush against the carpet as she scurried to the bathroom, dropping the pillow in the meantime. Sh...

The steak was bland and unsalted, and no amount of extra on-the-surface seasoning could salvage it. I called over the waiter, but he seemed more interested in ogling my girlfriend than fixing my meal. When I left a five cent tip, the guy caught me at the door and went berserk on me. I sincerely thought he was going to stab me with his own pen before an old lady whacked him, hard, with her purse. "Don't you hurt her for your shitty service!" she admonished him.

On Tuesday, May 24th, I celebrated the fifth anniversary of my first date with my fiancée and the second anniversary of our engagement. It's amazing to see how far we've come. When I started this blog, Arden and I had only been dating for almost four months. She was still attending university in Southern California, and I was still job hunting and receiving rejection letters for my completed novella. Since then, we've managed to survive two years of long distance, move into an apartment together, juggle different jobs, deal with school and class schedules, and deal with several adult responsibilities and anxieties. We have coped with one another's major flaws and issues - Hell, we've even had quite a few arguments. But we continue to strengthen our love for one another and become a better couple for it. Five years. Five years I would never trade for anything. Five years since this wonderful woman walked into my life and changed everything for the better. God, I ...

Don't Hurt The Deputy, Though by Belinda Roddie She passed the glock to me. "Aim for the sheriff."

It had been five years, and I had had enough. I had been on the receiving end of Wallace's taunts, mocking, and literal poking and prodding for far too long. Therefore, a plan was set in motion to finally seek revenge for all the torture he put me through at school. On our graduation night, when he was all decked out in his gown and acting too cool for even his own family, I would spring a masterful trap.

This Heart Of Mine by Belinda Roddie This heart of mine is broken and in shards gathering in puddles around my feet and shuffling against the wind like cards of ossified plasma and blood. The heat overpowers my senses, and I find myself slouching in my chair as I scan the photographs that you had left behind in your flight from me. Just before you ran away, I had lit candles honoring our anniversaries and future days, but now the flames are sadly flickering, their light fading into a sickly haze of dying orange. Someone get me glue and tape to fix this broken heart anew.