My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Coffee hasn't tasted the same since the Retransformation. The cream doesn't exactly help - it almost seems to curdle as soon as it hits the brew, giving it an inconsistent texture and almost making it more bitter. Sugar makes it even worse, as if the stuff was intentionally burned. I know this because before the Transformation, I drank my coffee black - all the time. Steaming hot, too, every morning. And it always woke me up like a punch to the throat. These days, not so much. I'm still exhausted after two or three cups. It doesn't taste the same. It doesn't feel the same. It's like I've grown an immunity to the effect. A resistance. Maybe Red Bull or an energy shot would do me more wonders. I'm ready to start the job hunt again by ten, just so I can rub the extra sleep out of my eyes. I've suffered from somnolence over the past two weeks, and for the first time in a while, I can wake up earlier than eleven in the morning. M...

You want me to turn away from my meds, from any drugs marked prescription. You think holistic medicine will "cure" my nervous conniptions. Well, let me tell you, sport, about the alternative sensations: If this stuff had been proven to work, it'd be labeled, "medication." So let's hope that your water does have too strong of a memory, because considering what you do in the bath, there are things it doesn't want to see.

Okay. Look. I've been good at writing longer, deeper introspections lately. Like, super good. Right? I've managed to think about my work, my relationships, my writing. All that fun stuff. I've been pretty impressed, considering all the stub introspections I was spitting out. So...considering I'm tired after a nice dinner with my brother, and I have to go to the city tomorrow to take photos at prom - which should be intense? And then after prom, I need to meet with some students of mine to put the final pages of the book together? Yeah, can I get a Friday night off from being introspective again? Thanks, y'all. I appreciate it. I'll talk about yearbook and writing and preparing for next year and anything else I can think of next week, okay? I promise. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Mangled Melodies by Belinda Roddie What do you do when the choir starts to scream?

The Primary Colors by Belinda Roddie The primary colors sat together around a table painted pearly white. They sipped tea from white cups, sweet with sugar and very hot, despite the freezing night. Red wore a frown across her face, and Blue was focused on the frost upon the glass of the window. Yellow tasted her brew and felt the warmth grow like a patch of grass under the sun. She saw the greens outside, the orange shadows glowing in the hearth, and purples bonded in a dusky sky, swallowed up when the night became too dark. Perhaps the colors three could all agree to let their hues mix and blend and bleed.