Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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stats

We looked at everything when it came to the championship brackets. We checked the rosters. We checked the stats. We checked both individual performance and team effort. And in the end, we had an idea of who would most likely head to the finals.

“I’m just saying,” I told my buddies over a tankard of ale at Mox’s Tavern, “when you have experience as a dragon slayer, you’re gonna do well in the beast bouts. Especially when you’re a damn good swordsman.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.19.2019 @ 7:32 pm

rug

Everyone likes to say that I don’t have the courage to confront my problems. I ignore them, they claim with a pointed finger and a standard accusatory tone; I just pretend they’re not there, sweep everything under the rug. Well, why the rug, out of curiosity? I mean, my floors are all hardwood, and the carpeting upstairs can’t have anything swept under it. How about I keep my problems in an old empty vodka bottle instead, like preserving dying insects, and I enjoy watching their exoskeletons slowly decay in the sunlight from my kitchen’s bay window?

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.18.2019 @ 11:55 pm

quick

“Hey, man. I got the pizza.”

I look up from my newspaper. “Wow,” I intone. “That was quick. Slow day at the Big Pepperoni?”

“Nah,” replies Marcia with a grin. “I went to Slice Of Life instead. Their pizza’s cheaper, but also way better. Dig in!”

Skeptical, I stand up and retrieve some cheese goodness from the box. Already, the dairy actually looks real; good start.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.17.2019 @ 3:32 pm

swaying

I find her swaying, upright, in the dining room, with all the light on, all the candles lit, and all the windows open – which sweeps in the rain like wet, translucent confetti, making itself at home in our tiny domain. I approach her; she’s asleep. Of course. This is not the first time I’ve seen her in this state. And when I touch her, she moans. She is, at first, incoherent. I do not understand her.

“Um…pardon, love?”

Then she becomes insistent; frustrated, even. “I am STEEPING the f***ing TEA!”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.15.2019 @ 4:13 pm

classical

I’m sitting in my room, a headache coming due to frustration alone, listening to pseudo-classical music that leaves no real impact on anyone’s memories. I wish I had the option of walking away, but as of now, I must be calculating and careful. God, to have the luxury of recoil! To be able to step back without leaving cracks on the sidewalk!

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.13.2019 @ 10:45 pm

muddy

I finish my hike with you with a smile, a bark-scratched jacket, torn jeans and muddy shoes. After I wash the leaves out of my hair with shampoo, I nestle my tired body down on the couch with you. My bones realign eventually, and I brew enough tea to put both you and me to sleep. The aphrodisiac comes when Mother Nature’s kiss is hard to beat, but I’ll take it – it’s perfect for me.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.12.2019 @ 7:55 pm

transformed

You see, this fairy tale does not end with, “Happily ever after.” The prince transformed remains a beast, and the damsel remains permanently asleep. Still, she dreams, though not of pretty things; she sees twisted horses with horns and creepy merry-go-rounds. She smells grease and mangy wet wolf’s hair and burning sulfur. And she heard, most defined of all, screams.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.11.2019 @ 12:07 pm

qualify

Rex worked his ass off to get to the finals, but he didn’t even qualify for the semis. And as he threw his temper tantrum in the locker room later, I knew that there was no way I could comfort him. Rex had always been fast, but his stamina had always been garbage. He could sprint, but he couldn’t keep the pace. He’d be left in the dust a mere one minute or so into the race, and he just couldn’t handle knowing just how much more he had to work on.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.10.2019 @ 10:52 am

overtime

Jerome worked overtime for the third day in a row, and when he walked back to his apartment, he found, to both his horror and resignation, that he had been robbed. His TV had been stolen, his desktop computer swiped. The remains of his clothes were strewn across the worn down carpet of his bedroom. In fact, the only thing the robbers didn’t seem to grab was his cat, Lily, who had hidden under the bed in fear as they did their work.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.09.2019 @ 12:54 pm

dishwasher

The dishwasher broke in our house, so Amos had to wash every dish by hand, and trust me, there were a LOT of them. We had pots from all the potatoes we boiled and mashed, on the baking pans for the chicken, all the tiny little wooden salad bowls coated in all varieties of dressings. He slaved away at the sink for over two hours; I was surprised his skin didn’t slough off in the scalding water.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.08.2019 @ 7:57 am

cassette

“Back in my day,” groaned the old man, “we listened to vinyls, not these newfangled apps and Spotifies!”

“And back in my day,” replied the millennial, “we listened to cassettes and CDs. But you don’t hear me bitching 24/7 about iPhones and online music apps.”

“Speak for yourself!” sniped the hipster, whose jeans were so tight that they were cutting off blood circulation in his thighs.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.07.2019 @ 7:49 am

vacancy

The hotel says, “No Vacancy,” but I know that’s a lie. I know they keep six rooms empty at all times. Precisely six. And do you know why? The owner’s paranoid. Delusional. That’s why. He thinks keeping six rooms empty will keep the Devil at bay. He thinks Satan needs six rooms for his demon crew, and if he lets them sleep for free, they won’t come and harm his family anymore. He’s crazy, I tell you. That guy is crazy.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.06.2019 @ 12:01 am

puppies

I love puppies. Puppies are great. Puppies make everything better. When they get bigger, they are big puppies, and when they get old, they are old puppies. I call them old puppers, though. I pet them and hug them, but only the latter if they like it. I love puppies of all colors and sizes. And they love me, too.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.04.2019 @ 6:36 pm

syndrome

Marty died of toxic shock syndrome after getting surgery on his gallbladder, and everyone was stunned by it. We had never expected something like this to happen: Marty had been strong, healthy, and so full of life. To lose him so young and in so vibrant a state was too much for my mother, Patty, who packed a single suitcase and traveled to her home city of Winnipeg, where she lived for the rest of her life.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.03.2019 @ 10:40 am

weave

It’s a new year, so let’s tell stories that we can pretend we’ve never heard before. Our daughters will fall in love and weave dead flowers into each other’s hair. We’ll watch them grow and get used to holding hands, while your husband pours us glass after glass of cold iced tea. Even in the chilly winter mornings, it tastes so sweet, and the lemon makes my soul pucker up in all the right ways. Don’t worry: I’ll pay for our daughters’ wedding.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.01.2019 @ 5:33 pm

latch

This is the part where I close the door to 2018 and do the latch so that it can’t be opened again. I know, it’s simultaneously a really weird but also really clichéd metaphor for it. I guess you’d have to close the door no matter what, given how time works. And I’m not a Time Lord, so I can’t exactly revisit anything.

Point. I had a point. Happy New Year, everyone. Hope this one sucks less.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.31.2018 @ 11:13 am

police

I called the police after hearing glass break at my neighbor’s house. Instead of a smashed window, however, it was an empty wine bottle that had made the sound, and by the time the officers arrived, Mr. Pollack was kneeling against the wall, forehead pressed against the plaster, a precise stream of red flowing from the exposed back of his head.

Mrs. Pollack was nowhere to be found.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.29.2018 @ 11:59 pm

swift

Zebediah’s retribution was swift, and yet, it was completely inefficient. For the rebellion continued, and the blades were sharpened by sunrise, and the entire swarm of the disenchanted soon took over the palace of golden bricks. The emperor, at this point, was pointless. He sat on his throne and watched as the windows of his fortress were shadowed, accepting the fact that the edifice would ultimately become his tomb.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.28.2018 @ 11:47 pm

musical

Morris was writing a new musical about some sort of orphan – where have I heard that before? fending for herself in a mystical land of dungeons and dragons – now where have I heard THAT before – before becoming queen. He claimed it was going to be the most creative and original musical of our time. I also know he said that after having imbibed seven strawberry daiquiris, so I couldn’t give him a HUGE amount of credit.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.27.2018 @ 10:07 pm

ornament

I got an ornament for Christmas this year, but I never bought a Christmas tree. My mother bought me new socks and a shirt, which I appreciated it, of course. My father didn’t show up until after we had eaten dinner, and he was totally baked, of course, and my two brothers got into a shouting match with him because their “good Christian souls” were negatively impacted by his love for weed. And I just dangled my new ornament in front of our obese tabby cat so he could swat at it while the “good will toward men” raged on by the front door.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.25.2018 @ 10:25 pm

locker

I found a Christmas card in my locker after finishing my last final, which had been a grueling two hours of algebraic equations and sad attempts at understanding the fundamentals of trigonometry. I half expected to open the envelope and dump glitter out, given that my friend Chuck was prone to silly pranks and tricks to make me laugh for the first time in an entire week. Instead, the card was simple, yet sentimental – a beautiful hand drawn Yule tree on the front, with simple, “Best wishes,” on the inside. But no name.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.24.2018 @ 11:12 pm

wine

While the children drank hot cocoa and egg nog, the adults all convened around the kitchen counter, pouring themselves glasses of beer and wine and partaking in the smells wafting from the oven. As I refilled my uncle’s glass with Cabernet, I began to notice how much he was already beginning to slur, and I dreaded the idea that I could be enabling a bad habit. Luckily, my grandpa winked at me before telling his son, “That’s the last glass you get tonight, my boy.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.23.2018 @ 6:10 pm

gingerbread

Let’s make a blanket fort in the living room. Let’s set up thirteen Christmas trees, string up so many lights that we’ll glow like a multicolored sunrise. Let’s build a gingerbread house, laughing at the fact that we certainly couldn’t be architects in the real world, but hey – gumdrop roofs are a great aesthetic in Winter Wonderland Real Estate. Then let’s make tea and cocoa and watch the classic films again and again.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.22.2018 @ 5:36 pm

ringtone

I knew it was Marvin’s ringtone that was going off. I knew it was his because it was the same five second loop of an obnoxious song turned into an 8-bit pseudo-orgasm for his video game enthusiast ears. I heard it, and my fists clenched as I stood on that stage, sweating through my tweed suit, eyes narrowed.

My actors stared at me. It was as if they, too, understood how much hell I was about to unleash.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.21.2018 @ 9:29 pm

pepper

Salt and pepper, garlic powder, and also an orange glaze. That’s how I season the Christmas ham that I serve on the holiday. The sweet and savory settle sharply on my wandering tongue, and then I decide to propose a toast to peace for everyone. Then of course, we all get roaring drunk and sing carols off-key. I hope despite the dissonance, we live in harmony.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.20.2018 @ 7:55 pm

banking

I thought that I would try a number of jobs once I got out of college. And I did – I tried out marketing and advertising. I tried out retail. I tried out banking. I worked at a Renaissance fair over the summer selling swords and axes and pretending I understood Shakespeare. I even decided to busk for cash, playing an old guitar of my father’s with two missing strings. Somehow, I still landed two hundred bucks one night.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.19.2018 @ 12:34 pm

harm

Please, love, I don’t want to cause you any harm; just drop the broken bottle, where you sucked away the remains of your father’s soul, and no one will be hurt. See, I’m armed with silver and brass – the breastplate beneath my shirt repels every single touch. I miss feeling your skin against mine, though, before it started to burn.

I don’t want to see you injured, or worse, killed, my love – but we are running out of time.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.17.2018 @ 6:09 pm

jazz

“Somehow,” Alex smiled, “I had a feeling you liked jazz.”

He reclined on the large easy chair in Melanie’s living room, listening to the sliding notes of the saxophone on the stereo. Melanie rolled her eyes.

“I was raised on it,” she explained. “My dad was a trombonist in a big jazz band. He made sure I learned piano and never stopped listening to the classics.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.15.2018 @ 11:25 pm

other

I didn’t know if I should send her a letter, or fire out an e-mail, or try to communicate with her in any other fashion. All I knew was that I was madly in love with her, and the art of confession was not an easy one to master.

I wound up saying nothing, stewing over my feelings, if only to make sure she was happy. She was married, anyway, and my stepping in and spilling my guts would have been more harmful than beneficial. I said nothing for six years. And after those six years, after her divorce, she asked me out for a drink.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.14.2018 @ 10:01 pm

occasional

Sometimes, we went out. And sometimes, we poured out our thoughts over the occasional drink, spilled our guts like lime juice squeezed into a Moscow Mule, reminisced on what we pretended were better times. Sometimes, we walked until we couldn’t see the street lights anymore, and it got so dark that you couldn’t see your hands in front of you unless the moon was out. And we would listen to the tide. That cold, swampy tide, etching its love letters in calligraphy on the seaweed-strewn shore.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.13.2018 @ 10:19 am

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