My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie On the moon, everyone dresses like the sci-fi version of the 1920s and rides around on giant moths. They also serve champagne in bowls because fuck Space Prohibition, am I right? When the flappers dance, they bounce like crazy, keeping their legs kicking even when suspended in the air. And the zoot suits are, indeed, a riot, just like they were back on Earth. You don't have to be an astronaut or a history buff to enjoy the scene. Just don't forget your fedora atop your helmet when you join the party. Be sure to name your insect ride Larry, because it just rolls off the tongue. Then wait for the Cosmic Stock Market to crash, and all the citizens decide to reside on Mars because their business is affected by the moon's global economy. Pearls that the girls wear are as big as moon rocks. The men swagger, though their speech is blurred from behind their heavy visors. Like your cane? It can also turn into an energy blade to smite your foes. Just don...

The men ran the factory like clockwork - all its odds and ends were taken care of. But the women ran the business like water - smooth and fluid and calm. Unlike the metaphor of clanking gears and chiming bells, the imagery of a rippling river seemed more succinct. And in the end, the profits were at an all time high the next corner, and all held responsibility for the success. And thus, there was beer for everyone!

Okay. So this is actually difficult for me to write, and I don't mean for emotional reasons. I mean that I'm totally wiped from this week. I just got back from one and a half football games at the school I work at (I left during the varsity game's halftime), since I was taking pictures for Yearbook, and while I'm now happily sated by veggie egg rolls and cream cheese rangoons...I'm just really tired, guys. I am. I'm so looking forward to a relaxing weekend - I've earned it. Now, normally, when I'm this mentally drained, I forego the introspection and just wimp out and go, "Night, guys!" Tonight is an exception. I have so much to say despite having little energy to do it, so I'ma just stretch my fingers, take a deep breath, and try to get my whining brain to work with me and not threaten to quit as I type up this rambling nonsense. Maybe breaking it down and keeping things brief and to the point will work. Compromise, my poor cerebral co...

Oink, Oink by Belinda Rodie In this game of football, they used a literal pigskin.

Welp. It was bound to happen again, I suppose. No new OneWord prompt today!

She Read Me by Belinda Roddie She read me like a book, and I was floored by her demeanor and her presence, too. She wore a smile that I soon adored, though it was rare and seldom in my view, for she assured that, when put on display, she would not act the part for everyone who courted her. The role that she did play in public was quite different when, once done with interaction, she retired with me to her room, where the curtains were then drawn so no one dared disturb our chatter. We were honest with each other 'til the dawn unfolded like an envelope, and then we went back to our cues onstage again.

They say that if you find the fields of dying wheat just outside town, you'll catch a glimpse of a colony, where the inhabitants are almost human. They dig holes in the dirt where it's dry and yields no fruit or life, and when night falls, each ditch glows as if lit by a thousand embers or laughing fireflies.