Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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This is not the kind of life I was hoping to have. This is not the kind of environment I wanted to be a part of. Look – all the people’s faces are blurred. It’s like a camera caught their stare and turned their scared eyes into pixels. They shamble aimlessly about, tripping over divots in the road. I think I might disintegrate into a smudge on a lens, too.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.12.2018 @ 5:03 pm


I had a problem. A big one. I had been designing a game for six years now. I had coded it. I had illustrated it. I had written the story. Everything was falling into place. And then I told my friend to try downloading it from my computer. She had no luck.

“It won’t install,” she informed me.

“What? Why?”

“It says it’s corrupt?”

I stared. “How the Hell can the game be corrupt? I’ve been demo-ing it for the past week.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.11.2018 @ 1:09 pm


Watch him pretend to be cunning like a fox, or listen to him howl like he’s trying to be a wolf. I have no respect for a man who acts more like a rabid animal than a composed civilian. I have no respect for a man who drinks from the gutter and snarls at women who don’t respond to his whistles. He doesn’t have enough breath left in his body to blow down a straw house, but that’s due to all the years he’s smoked his brains out.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.10.2018 @ 11:14 am


The children were all hungry. The children were all tired. The children were all angry. The children were all wired. The children couldn’t sleep despite how sleepy they all were. They couldn’t keep their food down, even though their stomachs purred. The children cried, the children wailed, the children spat and screamed. And when they all at last dozed off, they never really dreamed. The children all stayed hungry, and yes, they all stayed tired. And not a moment’s rest for us, who drove on all the while.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.09.2018 @ 3:23 pm


Watch the anger melt from her face, and you will see a pattern. A pattern of regret, a pattern of guilt, a pattern of reconsideration. It’s a bit like a tartan if you visualize it – that back and forth of dark and light, of red and black. Reminds me of my Scottish heritage, only my ancestors didn’t hail from a clan, and so they wouldn’t have had a tartan to begin with. Still, watch her sit back down in her chair and control her breathing. She’s still frustrated, but she won’t tear you limb from limb now.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.08.2018 @ 4:12 pm


She’s gotten too used to sunlight, observing how natural gold leaves stains across very gray pavement that once used to be black as ink. Now when the rain falls, she stands beside her window, eyes wide, pupils dilated as her hands wander to the already smudged glass. Maybe it’s because she’s so young, and we’ve been in a drought for so long – but the experience of water falling from the sky is foreign to her. She may even believe it to be a miracle.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.07.2018 @ 11:30 am


I don’t know why we’re talking about this again. The words wind up meaning nothing if they’re repeated over and over without actual weight. We’re going around in circles, and we’re kicking up dirt and rain as we do so. The storm is thundering overhead, and I just want to go home. But you won’t quit. Not until you’ve said your piece a thousand times, as if it’ll change my mind.

I’ll collect my things in the morning. You’ll have to argue with the empty bedroom instead,

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.06.2018 @ 10:33 pm


Don’t leave the pass in the bathroom this time, and don’t look the hall monitor in the eye. I’ve heard he’s tried to assault three girls so far on their way back to their science classes. I’ve been carrying mace myself – do you have anything sharp on you? Anything to slice the horny bastard in case he gets too close. We’ve tried reporting him – no dice. Turns out, he’s the freaking principal’s SON.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.05.2018 @ 11:18 am


If you follow her up her obsidian tower, then she will offer you a golden bauble. But the gold is just painted on – the rest is sparkling, fooling pyrite. Still, if you open the bauble, you’ll be both stunned and horrified to see her tiny heart beating in its gleaming chambers. Still, she advises you not to take it home with you. It’s only to look at, only to marvel at. She is one of the last left – the ones who can be sustained without organs or flesh.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.04.2018 @ 11:26 am


There I was at the bus stop with my headphones on, when a man with three eyes ran screaming to me. He said he could see the hearts of all humanity, and they were burning darker and darker by the minute. He told me my heart was one of the last pure ones left, but in all honesty, that’s all I heard, because then my favorite song started rumbling in my ears, and I never pause that song unless it’s a personal emergency. So the man with three eyes howled helplessly as I rocked to the groove of my awesome tune.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.03.2018 @ 3:32 pm


“I can sense your aura.”

Amy blinked. “I’m…I’m sorry?”

The old lady in the purple shawl did not blink. Her eyes stared endlessly into Amy, like two mini-vacuums sucking away her soul. “Your aura is…cloudy and angry. Very dark. Grays and blacks. Is this something amiss in your life?”

Why were there any other seats on this bus? Amy looked out the window and felt her heart sink – she’d have to be with this lady for the next forty minutes.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.02.2018 @ 12:12 pm


I loved her, but only at a distance. I sent letters, but never signed with my name. I never tried to be creepy with what I wrote – I merely sent good wishes, seasons greetings, the occasional update on how the town was doing now that she was gone. I knew she didn’t want to hear from me, but perhaps, if I were merely a disembodied voice – a messenger – then she would accept my words. Maybe even treasure them.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.01.2018 @ 2:46 pm


We celebrate the new year on land that was stolen, eating food that would otherwise be wasted, drinking beverages that ought not to be imbibed. We reminisce on our successes because our failures cause us too much grief, unless said failures contributed to a positive element of our lives. We have wishes for the next year, but who knows if they’ll come to pass? For now, I have you, and I have me, and I have this bottle of bubbly, and I don’t want it to go flat.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.31.2017 @ 4:17 pm


My soul is forged from steel – my mind is titanium circuits. I am not a being of silicon, however, but of carbon. The metaphors I spew like nonsense streamers still apply to my fortitude, my determination, my endurance. Perhaps linking myself to the most powerful of the physical – the toughest of materials, the most lasting of impermanent minerals – allows me to feel invincible. If only temporarily. That’s worth something.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.30.2017 @ 12:10 pm


How many times do I have to ask the same question until you remember the answer? If the names all sound the same in the end, why give us those monikers and expect them to remain memorized? I’m standing over your bed, Mother, and I see how your eyes have glazed over. They’re coated with the sugar grains of past moments that I can’t even stomach anymore. We used to sit together on your porch, while you held back screams as the neighbors burned all of their belongings in front of you. You hated the smell of the smoke.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.29.2017 @ 12:19 pm


“Hey, Mom?”


“I’ve got a weird feeling about this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Something tells me that dousing the Christmas tree in gasoline and setting it on fire isn’t exactly the most expedient way to get rid of it.”

My mom got a funny look on her face. The lighter in her hand was tiny and cute. “Look, honey – I have no time or energy to drive it to the recycling center. Just soak it in the stuff already, and let’s MOVE IT.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.28.2017 @ 1:19 pm


I can get by pretty well, I’d say. I can afford three square meals a day. My house isn’t much, but it’s got a roof to keep me a dry and blankets to keep me hot. I’ve bought myself a toaster and a microwave so I’m not just eating sandwiches every day. I’m ready to move up, but for now, this is what I got – with the food that I eat and the house that I’ve bought.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.27.2017 @ 11:59 am


I am your father, and I love you with all my heart. I am your mother, and I brought you into this world. I am your brother, and unlike Cain, I am your keeper. I am your sister, and my stories will keep you sane. I am your nieces and nephews, your sons and your daughters. I am connected to you by blood and by your arcane human laws. I am your family, tucked away in a silver bauble. Open my bejeweled mouth from time to time, and I will sing the song of your ancestors to you.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.26.2017 @ 6:52 pm


A Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you all are happy and healthy. I hope that the company you keep is the kind that loves you for who you are, regardless of whether or not they’re linked to you by blood. I hope you see light in the continually swarming darkness. There’s not much heat left in this metaphorical winter, but perhaps sitting by the hearth and sipping hot chocolate with the people you trust and adore will at least give us some temporary peace.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.25.2017 @ 1:25 pm


I wanted someone special for Christmas. I wanted someone reliable. I wanted someone I could count on – yes, that was undeniable. I wanted someone who could say the words I needed to hear every day. I wanted a person who could be consistent in their own superior way. I wanted someone who liked to have fun but who could also have serious chats. In the end, there wasn’t someone for me, so for Christmas, I adopted cats.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.24.2017 @ 9:28 pm


I didn’t expect Christmas to come crashing down around us, but it happened. Quite literally, in fact. It all started with the town of Burgundy witnessed its giant Christmas tree get struck by lightning during a rather violent storm. As the bark was ripped up like tissue paper, we stared in shock from our windows as the majestic trunk toppled down and strands of light burst in flares as they hit the pavement.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.23.2017 @ 11:42 am


Oh, Mrs. Dillon, sweetie pie, the telephone is ringing! You better pick it up before the carolers start singing. It’s Mr. Dillon, fat and proud, and he’s got you a present. Now he is calling to also provide a Christmas message. He’s saying, “Merry Christmas, darling, from your one and only. I’m happy to be seeing you tonight, or I’d be lonely.” Oh, Mrs. Dillon, sweetie pie, no need to make a fuss. We’re happy to let you go home – a Christmas gift from us!

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.22.2017 @ 3:54 pm


“I told him I’d give him fifty bucks for it.”

Maura stiffened at the number, but I was insistent.

“It’s all I had. It’s all I wanted to offer. We need to eat, Maura. I want to try music again, but we need to eat.”

“He’s never going to sell that piano to you for that low,” she mumbled.

“I’m still waiting for his decision.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.21.2017 @ 1:28 pm


I’m living in a nice two story condo, and my income’s relatively stable. It’s not much, but it’s stable. I can always put food on the table.

I have a car that runs all right; it’s got mileage, but it’s stable. It’s not much, but it’s stable. When it comes to its job, it’s able.

I have a wife who loves me, and our marriage has been stable. It’s everything, and it’s stable. It’s the perfect fairy tale.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.20.2017 @ 3:05 pm


You’re not gonna get your way with me. No, not with that sh***y attitude. Not with that temper and that perspective on who I am, and not with that greasy sneer dragged across your face. I am not interested in your diatribes; I am not going to listen to your excuses. You can pack everything up in one or two bags and get out – you don’t get a second chance with me. Hell, you shouldn’t have even gotten one.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.19.2017 @ 2:38 pm


The city that Hannah visited was quite high up – fifteen thousand feet above sea level, to be exact. She remembered to take her altitude sickness medication, and consequently, as she stepped out of the plane into the thin Cuzco air, she was able to breathe and stay steady. By contrast, Erika was already turning green around the gills.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.18.2017 @ 12:23 pm


It was twenty minutes before the Christmas party. I felt like I looked pretty decent; my suit was clean and ironed, and my hair had defied expectations by not making me look like an untamed cockatoo for the first time in a while. Still, I added a little gel to the madness, and by the time I was heading out the door, it was already dark, and the nip in the air had mutated into quite the vicious and chilling bite.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.17.2017 @ 3:53 pm


“Tell them the truth!” snarled Cassie.


“Tell. Them. The. TRUTH.”

Bart said nothing at first. When he finally did speak, his voice was low and subdued. “I was responsible for the fire.”

Cassie shook her head. “Louder, Bart.”


“Louder, so they can all hear what you have to say.”

“I was responsible for the fire,” repeated Bart, but only a little louder this time.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.16.2017 @ 2:12 pm


Let me deal the cards, but first, I’ll shuffle the deck. I let the kings and queens and jacks leap into the air in an arc, in a black and red rainbow between my fingers. I cast each noble and peasant out so that they’re tucked between your fingers, and in the end, you’ll no longer be able to tell which will grant you victory and which will be your downfall.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.16.2017 @ 2:13 am


It was another night to dance; it was another night to waltz. We kept up with the time signature as much as we could. We counted in threes, and only threes. Your black shoes left black scuffs on the white floor. The hems of my white dress grew black around the edges from dirt and dust and shadows.

When the orchestra stopped playing, we stopped and collected ourselves. Perhaps we were now too old for waltzing.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.14.2017 @ 2:33 pm

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