My Cardboard Balcony

Reinstallation by Belinda Roddie Sometimes, I feel like deprogramming is the only way I can be debugged, but I'm also aware that pulling the plug doesn't guarantee that, should by a miracle I am restarted, the celestial parts of me I tolerate won't wind up corrupted, like files gathered in a row on an open sea of data, trickling green into the brine.

It was just a flip, tuck, and a tumble to get Mick on the other side of the hill, clutching their shotgun to their chest. As they settled into the grass, they could feel the pollen already begin to settle on their body, dusting their thin hair and settling onto their nostrils. They willed themselves not to sneeze - the Summertime Zombie Dream Team would hear them. So Mick gritted their teeth and went to chamber a round.

by Belinda Roddie Two days, one waterfall, and a blizzard later, we were camped in the Valley of the Desolate, drinking hot rum and nestling our chilled bodies against the mossy rocks. When I slept beside Mattor, I could feel the warmth radiating from their shoulders, and I couldn't help pressing myself against them. They wound up holding me until the morning, when we reviewed the next steps of our campaign. "We fight in snow or in sunshine," commanded Lamba, his beard golden in the morning glare. "You were trained for that." I was hoping there at least wasn't another waterfall. This week's prompt was provided by Tyler Gomola, who got it from  Zee Bashew's video, which  you can watch here.

I'm not sure why my wife is so obsessed with haunted houses. She claims she'd love to live in one, but has she never watched horror films? It's not just all fun and games and ghosts - people die in those damn abodes. But no, she says I'm just a scaredy cat and can't handle a little "excitement" in my life. "Bungee jumping is exciting," I tell her. "Skydiving is exciting. Ghosts are not my fucking cup of tea."

I think we're definitely in, "I'm not as introspective these days," territory, people. Which is weird because for months, I was writing these long, self-pitying diatribes where my anxiety was cranked up to eleven. Now I'm just tired all the time. I'm like a battery that constantly needs recharging. I just need to push to the end. I've been talking with people and mentors and doing my best to recalibrate my perspective of myself versus the world around me. For example, I need to remember that what some people think of me isn't actually me. People's opinions do not shape who I am or what I stand for. I also need to remember that making mistakes is part of the journey. Sure, it hurts to make these mistakes, and I wish I didn't, but it makes me no less of a good person. This needed to happen to help me improve, and it will help me tell better stories later on. I think, again, we are living in a society now where we are not allowed to be flawe...

Too Many Carrots? by Belinda Roddie I washed my hands, but the skin remained bright orange.