My Cardboard Balcony

Guys. We did it. We survived the first week of the new regime. It was not a fun week, mind you. Scientific minds were censored. Federal agencies were frozen. Refugees were banned, and a wall is going to be built with our tax dollars. The media has been declared an enemy of the state, and rogue groups have popped up to fight for a noble cause. That last part is more optimistic, but the fact that it even needs to happen is disconcerting, to say the least. But we survived! We made it through the chaos. We have a long, looooong way to go, but the little victories matter. My experience? The beginning of the week was dreadful. I wound up deactivating a couple of my social media accounts because I have grown addicted to looking up media and social events. I broke down in my wife's arms and admitted that I need to reevaluate how I care for myself. I have decided to focus on two issues starting from the local level: First Amendment protections and the LGBTQ+ community. If I can better...

Cerebral Liberty by Belinda Roddie You can wrap me in chains, but my brain's free.

There were three executives sitting in the boardroom when I entered. Two were men, and one was a woman. A young, beautiful, powerful woman. She wore a suit that was crisper and better fitting than her male counterparts, and she kept her curly brown hair swept up in the tidiest bun I had seen in my life. I was ready to swoon, but I had a presentation to start.

Whiskeys For Two by Belinda Roddie Whiskeys for two, please! Let the glasses spill because we're young and we are so in love. We'll drink two toasts to both calm and good will, until the music provokes us to move across the floor like gliding seraphim - holy, but flawed, our wings outstretched and bright in the small space. We'll feed on every whim like salty appetizers and a flight of brimming beers. This country is a mess, and our freedoms are waning, but for now, we still have a right to dance and caress each other on the lips and nose and brow without a right-wing maniac to break the permanent pact that we aim to make.

I met Tracey on her porch, fondly gazing at her as she walked out wearing quite the ensemble. I knew she could pull off red, but this was giving the Scarlet Pimpernel a run for his money - or moniker, for that matter. Her outfit was crimson embroidery and maroon ascot and burgundy boots, the only exception, color wise, being the brass buttons on her coat.

Before Bombardment by Belinda Roddie Details, scrawled out in militant rows, with dirty uniforms, dead guns, and snakes made of ammo hissing at the sunset. Numbers in a computer that only runs when you plug it into the source. In the trench, I pull you toward me. The brass buttons on your jacket are sticky. Your braided cap hides the crescent moons of your eyes. Here, we huddle and heat each other up with our bodies, our fragile bodies, our shaking, stuttering bodies. Words tremble in our stomachs; they threaten to rise up like yellow bile. Here, for a while, we do not hear the rockets or the bombs. The dragons are sleeping, and so we simply breathe on one another's faces instead of reciting our prayers. Beyond the front line, the generals meet again. Their suits are clean, and they wear no hats. Their heads shine brighter than the smile of a warhead's heat shield. They do not laugh, but they think about mirth filling their champagne glasses and t...

I had been sleeping in until ten o'clock for days now; I knew that, and my family knew that. Therefore, I was startled when, one chilly morning, I felt awake and alive around six AM. I don't know what spurred me on, but a sudden heat that almost felt like it was crackling in my bones rocketed me out of bed. I pulled on my clothes, tied on some hiking boots, and without thinking much on it, found myself hiking up the hill near my parents' house.