My Cardboard Balcony

I Still Love You by Belinda Roddie The turmoil comes in snaps and bursts, almost as if the winter chill is preparing to make the pipes in your brain explode, the inner cerebral plumbing threatening to spill everything - truths, lies, choices, reluctances. You never wanted her to know your doubts, but she knows them. She sees how simply you've tattooed them as a sleeve on your pulsing flesh. Sees the ripples producing sounds along your body. It's white noise, the kind that sets your teeth on a war zone border rather than easing the lactic tension in your muscles. It makes each separate hair stand erect and report for duty on the military assembly line, and you will report for duty, sir, even if it kills you by sundown. You want to stitch your lips closed with silver, even while you dwell in a laboratory world where everything is open-ended - everything is revealed on a steel table with just a little bit of dissection, the blade of the silicon scalpel hot...

I didn't know where I was. I didn't know how I got there. I didn't know where I was going or who I was going to meet or even when this was all going to end. But I could say with absolute certainty what my name was. That was one thing I had. And I wouldn't say it out loud in case that was stolen from me, too. I had had enough swiped from my hands over the past few days to make me cautious of every interaction I partook in.

I think you know why by this point, people.

by Belinda Roddie She hurtled down the track, the icy winds whipping her face, and she hoped it was fast enough this time. Every swish of her skis - every sting of frost striking her in her exposed cheeks - reminded her of her pace - of her trial. She could feel her fingers already grow numb beneath her gloves, but she kept her grip on her poles firm, eyes forward, the zephyrs attacking her windbreaker. When she came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, she could already see her father despite the falling sleet. He was shaking his head. She couldn't see his mouth, but it was probably drawn in a straight line beneath his ski mask. He waved his stopwatch, and she felt her shoulders sag. "Two seconds too late, Lexi," he remarked gruffly. "No way in Hell you'd get gold." "Silver?" "Not even 4th," he grunted. "Forget it. Let's go home." Lexi exhaled. At this rate, she felt more obliged to sit back with a hot choc...

When the winter snows started falling again, my sister and I would travel out to the hills to collect the last remaining iris that did their best to grow before being blanketed by frost and ice. I would wear our mother's gloves, and my sister would wear our father's red quilted jacket, the collar turned up so that it covered her quivering chin and lips. Still, you could see how flushed her cheeks got in the chill, as he pulled up each fragile flower and placed it gently into a shared wicker basket.

Hey. So. Second to last deadline for Yearbook is Monday. I made my English students start war with each other on imaginary islands to introduce them to Lord of the Flies. The high school's improv show tonight was a lot of fun and I took all the pictures. Then I ate ice cream with my wife and a couple of friends. Even though it was in the low 40s. I don't care - peanut butter chocolate ice cream from Double Rainbow is the best. Now I'm on my online yearbook maker program thingy, working with a couple of my students, and I think we're all losing our minds. As the great Freddie Mercury sang, "I'm going slightly maaaaaaaaaaaad..." ...Yeah, that's my mood for this week. I'm going to bed. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Brown Moose Are Full Of Sin by Belinda Roddie The moose was bright turquoise. His heart was pure.