My Cardboard Balcony

My Uncle Jack by Belinda Roddie My uncle Jack made pancakes every night and waffles every morning, golden brown and topped with bacon, syrup, and thick, bright yellow butter sold locally in town. My uncle Jack drank beer for breakfast, and he only sipped on coffee when the moon had fully risen in the sky. His hands would tremble afterward, but he would soon be laughing and dancing a merry jig, swooping my aunt up in his hairy arms and almost causing her to lose her wig which she still wore to ward off chemo's harms to her. My uncle Jack ate pancakes every night yet lived to ninety: He was quite a sight!

They laid out the contracts in front of Frankie - white sheets of paper with red and black text, glaring at her, daring her to scribble ink all over them. Frankie shifted in her chair. She was suddenly very aware of hot warm it was in the room. Eighty degrees out in the middle of February. Damn climate change.

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

Oh, Where? by Belinda Roddie Oh, where is the man who left me for dead at the foot of his bed and drank blood from my hand? Oh, where is the man who left marks on my skin? Let me bury my sin in a hole in the sand. Then I'll hollow it out so I can bury this man.

Tiny, somber footsteps leading to the bedroom. Hot fingerprints lingering on an unraveling red sweater. Puffs of breath descending from an old and creaky staircase. And saltwater in the sink. Not tears, just saltwater. The ocean backing up into the pipes, threatening to burst them. Like breaking bones in a decrepit man's wooden face.

"Weren't you going to make a chicken dish for dinner, sweetie?" asked Claire, as she sat down in front of her plate of fish. Bell peppers and steamed broccoli proudly decorated the fried tilapia. Taylor grinned haplessly. "I was," she admitted, "but I was missing one of the ingredients." "Which was...?" "Chicken."

Three women were studying geometry at the rundown local library. Two of them got bored and went out for a smoke, their heels clicking against both carpet and asphalt. The third woman finished her reading, closed the book, and sighed. She stretched, and both her spine and the tome's spine crackled in the silent space. She thought about texting her girlfriend. Ramen and a movie sounded great after this shitshow of a study sessions.