My Cardboard Balcony

Rainbow Dragon by Belinda Roddie Some say when I die, a rainbow dragon will swoop to my bedside and scoop me up in its gentle jaws, before carrying me to its aerie on the zenith of the highest mountain in the world - not my world. Its world. And it will shower my body in gold and jewels while my soul lifts like silver from the broken, puckered flesh, liquid at first, but then blooming like a phoenix's plume as I grow my own neon wings and fly alongside my new celestial partner for a new kind of forever.

We pooled all our savings into one bowl - cash, coins, even gift cards - and stared at the results. To be fair, the bowl was pretty big - steel and bulbous, bearing the so-called treasures that we had earned or scavenged for throughout our years together. As we began counting the actual money, Tracey collected the gift cards in a stack because we weren't quite sure how much value they had - if any at all.

Someone Else's Story by Belinda Roddie I didn't want her hands on me - digging around in the torn pockets of my jeans, tugging at the frayed loose ends of my sweater, dragging me away from lights that more exuded warmth than aided my sight. When she kissed me, I tensed up. I felt all the human parts of me turn to metal around my bones, squeaking hinges replacing the smooth movement of my limbs. My jaw got so stiff that it nearly felt ossified, like I was becoming a fossil before I even died. In the other room, others, like us, were making love. Others like us were dipping their fingers into a nectar that came only from each other's mouths, in the form of short, sweet breaths and words that had no sharp end but were affirmative, monosyllabic declarations to whoever above their heads was listening, be it God or the couple having sex upstairs. Yes, yes, yes, yes. I didn't speak. When she finished with me, she left a trail of alien flame along my rib...

No update on the OneWord website today. We'll see if there's one tomorrow.

For a while, it seemed like a setup - some sort of divine trick, to pull the metaphorical wool over our eyes and make us question our humanity. In the end, however, it was no magician's riddle or sick bastard's mischief. This was real. I heard the sirens from two miles away. I saw the blaze of red and blue overhead as I parked my bike beside the grocery store. I tasted salt, but I couldn't tell if it was the breeze from the bay nearby or from my own tears.

by Belinda Roddie The others saw what she couldn't, and when the shadows converged, they grabbed her by the arm and dragged her somewhere safer. She could certainly hear the clicking of teeth, like metal on metal, and the growls and puffs of warm air around her. But she could not see the threat. They could, and they protected her because of it. The white cane she gripped in whitened fingers had merely become an extra appendage now - an extension of desperation into a world she had no real perception of. Besides, the poor thing was bent out of shape now - contorted, cracked and hardly reliable. She had received the cane four years prior, before the Madness had begun. Now, it was as if she carried it on her out of pity, rather than out of actual use. Not that it mattered. Her other senses had sharpened, though not by too much. She could smell the stale deodorant that others used - the tart store bought kind, kept in boxes in the basement of the cabin where they all stayed. ...

"So what do I do now?" The counselor I was sitting across from didn't look the least bit enthused while responding. "Frankly, I only see one pathway for you," he intoned, "if you don't pass senior English - and that's summer school. There are plenty of programs that would be willing to take you in..." "Or," I countered, "you know, I could just drop out and continue to work at the car shop because it's kind of what I want to do with my life - that's two pathways now, isn't it?"