My Cardboard Balcony

And The Clocks Went Dead by Belinda Roddie I had a dream that time stopped, and the chemistry of our bodies couldn't handle the change. Light burst from our eyes like tiny supernovae, and we screamed, for the pain in our heads was too much to bear. But then, it was over, and the darkness faded, and the throbbing subsided like a fading drum. I walked out into the snow and saw shadows there, some in dark coats, and some with no purpose at all. When I was actually awake, I went out to grab lunch at the burrito shop, and the girl who served me rice and chorizo had a tattoo under her right eye: A green dollar sign, like a fragile wish for success drawn in ink on her translucent skin. I stepped out into the rain, and the shadows were still there, though time moved as quickly as it always did, and there were no dying stars in my eyes.

Avery didn't know how she could repay Ramona. She wouldn't have to. Unfortunately, Ramona passed away in her sleep mere days after assisting the high schooler, having dealt with a terminal, yet closely guarded, illness for the last four years of her life. Avery attended her memorial, and she felt like a mere shadow among the other mourners. Her hands were cold and stiff while folded together, feeling as rigid as the preserved corpse in the coffin in front of her.

I knew that I was going on a boating trip, but I didn't expect a voyage. Yet there she was: My grinning, bucktoothed, wily aunt, all beaming blue eyes and white hair, wearing a long blue oat with gold embroidery and a broad black hat. She was the captain of this ship, and by God, she told us all, she would lead us on the adventure of our lifetimes!

by Belinda Roddie If you move fast enough, it looks like everything else is frozen. If you keep your speed consistent after that, it's almost as if you're traveling through one singular moment in time. The gentleman caught mid-bite while decimating a pear. A paralyzed young girl with her jaw hanging open at the sight of a glob of ice cream suspended in the air. And the clear, monotonous tone of words and songs that are caught on one note, one syllable, resulting in a mesmerizing, mechanical hum that sticks in your ears like accumulating wax. I am not a superhero. I do not have super speed. But I can catch moments, and save them, like I'm preserving human passions in amber. Like I'm sticking idiosyncrasies, smiles, and questions in the freezer and refusing to let them thaw. I went spelunking one time and let my hand fuse itself onto a monolith of blue ice. Once I removed my palm, the skin did not tear, but the imprint stayed, like the tower had stolen a shadow of m...

They locked us up in tiny cages, and they fed us black gruel from grody spoons. We couldn't feel the warmth or see the light from outside, and so we shriveled up into husks of our former selves.I felt my own brain threatening to slide out of my rotting skull. I let my bony fingers slip through the rusted bars, and instantly I felt the urge to scream like a wounded animal.

I made it through the week while fighting a cold, and I had a good day today, and I'm going to have an even better day tomorrow 'cause I'm seeing Fun Home with my wife. Take that, you tiny-handed, orange proto-fascist and your white supremacist puppet master! You can't ruin my weekend! You lovely readers have a great night and a great weekend, too.

I Fight Because It's Right by Belinda Roddie Nobody's paying me to protest your awful policies, orange man.