My Cardboard Balcony

"I'm sorry," said Alan, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Not your fault." "No, really, I'm sorry," he insisted. "I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have gotten involved." I sighed and scratched at the nape of my neck, the red fuzz collected there making my skin itch. "You thought you were doing the right thing. I get it." "But I fucked up." "No."

by Belinda Roddie "No, I do not have Pokémon GO!" snapped Peter, frowning as he slumped onto the couch. "My data plan's not good enough. I am perfectly happy watching the baseball game while you nerds go out hunting Ratatas or whatever." And so, all of Peter's brothers and neighbors went to the river to try to catch Magikarp. Several of them nearly drowned. In the meantime, Peter got to celebrate seeing the home team win a jillion to one against their evil rivals. Be more like Peter. ...Oh, dear God, I don't have Pokémon GO. What am I doing with my liiiiiiife? This week's prompt was provided by Lyz Reblin.

No update on the OneWord website today. Oh, well!

The world right now - not just my country - the world right now is not really in a good state. There's not much else I can say. I am a white American. I am privileged in some respects, and not privileged in others. I have seen on TV, in newspapers, online, the deaths and outrage and political mudslinging, and I have not been able to stomach it well. Yes, my week, as an individual, was fine. I got to explore another facet of my job by teaching a subject I've never tried to teach (Spanish). Arden and I have been working on videos together this month, so being able to collaborate on creative projects is a plus. My family and friends are well. It is now exactly three months before my wedding. But I'm just one person. And in other parts of the country and the world, people are dying. Because of ignorance. Because of hate. Because of fear. I can only speak out so much before I feel obligated to give the metaphorical microphone to those who deserve it more. Therefore, I wi...

Black Lives Matter by Belinda Roddie Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Black lives matter. Period.

"Are you going to be there?" I raised my head from my book. "Huh?" Stacey stared at me, hands on her hips, as if I had just missed her reciting a gospel of truth. "I said, are you going to be there?" "You're going to have to be a bit more specific," I replied. "Clarify the 'there?'" "The party! Gosh, Nick! It's like you don't even care!"

Where Were You by Belinda Roddie Where were you when we set the church on fire, exposing all the skeletons inside? Their bones gleamed orange as each solemn spire crumbled like sugar, redemption denied. Once entombed, they were freed, the smiling skulls with crooked teeth, all torched by searing heat, and one by one, their purgatoried souls found quiet sleep eternal underneath the earth. They were unnamed but had been killed by Christ's so-called "apostles." Heretics, they called them. Sick and blasphemous. Weak-willed. We freed them from their mortal cages. Bits of ash clung to our clothes, but you weren't there. We'd destroyed pure evil. You didn't care.