My Cardboard Balcony

To Be Compassionate by Belinda Roddie To be compassionate or to be blunt: to deliver critique as well as calm support, to be exact, sharp, and upfront, but also show the soft side of the palm, the coolness of the tongue. The balance that I attempt to strike between iron fist and mentor is delicate. I combat the tempers of the students that insist that I am not their Fearless Leader. Still, I pay them in grades, I run the affair, and if they screw up, it is I who will face the brunt of the storm. I am aware I must not make myself vulnerable, and yet, is patience more enforceable?

The Cost Of Gravity by Belinda Roddie In this heavy world, we cannot tiptoe, we cannot whisper, we cannot let our hearts echo in the parlor. Our stomachs swell with clusters of musket balls, all with hidden messages inside. Our mouths are dry, our teeth chiseled like stone. We cannot chew. We cannot digest anything. All we can manage is the softness of our fingers, the warmth of our lips, the single caress of our shoulders. There is still something gentle despite the weight. There is still a chance to rest despite the burden pressing down like the molten core of Mother Earth's sagging bosom. And if I hold you close in this heavy world, perhaps, ironically, your spirit, the last thing untouched, will become lighter than a star.

“Want to share a milkshake today?” asked Lacey, as we huddled together under the elm tree just outside school. I shook my head. “Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m broke. I can’t even afford a cookie from that shop right now.” “Okay,” said Lacey, smiling. “My treat, then.” I tried to protest, but she squeezed my hand in defiance.

I think I should have missed school, but I didn't. I sank down into my personal oblivion before nine AM, and I tried to write my in-class essay, but I couldn't get any English out. It was like I knew no languages, understood no dialects or even single words. When I fell asleep in math class, I dreamed of chaos spun like sugar into stars. I can't really describe it in any other way - fever dreams are just sort of like that.

Excelsior by Belinda Roddie My world was full of superheroes, kid - the kind that could deflect metal from their chests, the kind that could punch Nazis and not get caught up in some sort of self-righteous debate about it. The kind that wore skin-tight suits and threw shields around like frisbees straight out of Hell. Heroes who stood up for something we all believed in. My world was beautiful, and bright, and brimming with ideals. Now it's my responsibility to pass those stories on to you - because the man who started it all has taken a rocket ship to his new homeworld among the stars, and we live in a society that wants to purge us like we're X-Men, or discredit us like we're Spiderman, or antiquate our values like we're part of Captain America's quest for a freer future. I want to remind you that your life is not exempt from challenges, but it is never too late to go onwards and upwards. And if all else fails - if half the universe dis...