Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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Hop on the wagon, boys, and we’ll go fishing until the sun sets. Keep your rods steady and your lines intact and your reels always a-spinning. We’ll meet your sister when it’s dark out and share a six pack by the cabin. Then before the mosquitoes bite, we’ll slip into bed and do it all again tomorrow.

Your sister has a better cast and a stronger grip than all of you combined. See if you can catch a larger trout than she does, but I’ll bet my gold tooth that she can’t be beat!

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.29.2018 @ 11:14 pm


Here’s what I’d suggest to you, old man, before you hurt yourself or anyone else: Get out. Pack your bags, sell your house, hop in your dingy pick-up truck, and just drive away. Drive away until you can’t see our little town on the horizon anymore, and make sure you leave behind any traces of your name – real or fake. We won’t miss you. We won’t cry for you. We just want everyone to be safe. And they won’t be until you’re living out in the wilderness and leaving the rest of us normal folk alone.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.28.2018 @ 12:05 am


This is the place where they marked us. I remember the moment I screamed. It’s quite the sensation to be branded, to be labeled, to be burned with the insignia of somebody else. It’s not exactly a romp in the park to be deemed someone else’s property. Yet, here we are, with all the fires around us. The ones we set in the middle of the night.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.23.2018 @ 11:24 pm


She didn’t attack me physically, but she did verbally eviscerate me. She used every piece of vocabulary she had learned since she was a child. She relied on insults provided by Shakespeare and other playwrights. She dug so deeply into me using language that the words left small cuts everywhere – like paper slices across my skin.

When she was done, I was sitting on the floor, staring out into space. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Any time but now.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.21.2018 @ 8:24 pm


Leslie wore white sneakers, torn purple-stained jeans, and a black hoodie with an indecipherable logo splayed across it in metallic gold. She walked over to the counter to order a black coffee, and the shy, red-haired and dimpled barista fell absolutely in love with her. This was Vanessa, and she was just getting over the terrible night she had just hours ago, when her father had once again threatened to kick her out of the house.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.19.2018 @ 4:27 pm


Is everything between us just a stunt, like the ones you pulled on movie sets, until you pulled your back out so far that it was like you were a marionette growing strings? Is every word we exchanged as worthless as zinc flattened out into currency that’s rarely used and barely relevant that days? Look, it’s raining outside, on a July afternoon. I’d like to see you drown in it.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.17.2018 @ 6:02 pm


I remember waking up at the hospital and feeling the needles in my arms. I knew what had happened prior to this arrangement – I could still recall the color and make of the vehicle that hit me. A blue Ford Focus, already sporting a decent dent in the front bumper. That should have been an omen for me.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.15.2018 @ 10:10 pm


Tell me why you want to try to be a rapper. Tell me what kind of beats you’ll mix. Tell me how you’re going to build your fanbase. Tell me all of your tips and tricks. I’ve never heard you utter a syllable. Is the only way you can do it? You stand on the stage and verbally rage and froth at the mouth like there’s nothing to it.

Tell me why you want to try to be a rapper. Is it your last attempt at communication?

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.14.2018 @ 10:13 pm


How long can you be sleepless before the dreams you were supposed to have become real? I’ve heard it’s possible – your brain readjusts to the dry wasteland of being awake, and so the hallucinations start while your eyes are still open. You see colors you didn’t believe existed before, dipped in everything from infrared to ultraviolet. The textures are different, too – winter has gotten warmer, and the pins and needles in your feet create cushions.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.13.2018 @ 8:12 am


I haven’t used my typewriter in years. Everything is done by hand. They tell me I should get one of them newfangled computers, but I ain’t in the mood to learn new technology. I write until my hand cramps up, and then I record my thoughts on a cassette tape, which I play back and listen to multiple times until my fingers start seizing and I start to feel pins and needles in my palm.

My novel remains unfinished. I remain unpublished.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.11.2018 @ 10:55 pm


I didn’t mind my job, honestly. Sure, the work was occasionally tedious, and spending all that time in a cubicle did quite a deal of damage to my already out of shape back. But my coworkers were nice, and my boss had a good head on her shoulders. I worked 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, and felt a sense of normalcy. I hadn’t felt that in a while.

Of course, that was before my brother called me from prison.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.10.2018 @ 8:06 am


We were barely hanging on to life when the heatwave took over the battlefield. By then, water supplies had dwindled to almost nothing, and those who weren’t dehydrated quickly succumbed to heat stroke. It was, allegedly, record-breaking, the earth scorched and the grass turned brown by the time the pressure eased off and winds began to blow again.

I cradled my sergeant in my arms on the last day and tried to give her my canteen of water. But she refused to take a single sip.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.07.2018 @ 11:02 pm


Steve and Sebastian sealed the floors, slammed the shutters, and locked the doors. Steve and Sebastian were shut up tight, and they didn’t want guests anymore.

Carl and Christina kept their lights on, their fun nights long, and their voices in song. Steve and Sebastian didn’t like it, but Carl and Christina stayed strong.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.07.2018 @ 12:46 am


“Hey, I’d like the fried chicken plate, please.”

“No problem. Mashed potatoes?”

“Yes, please. And corn.”

“$9.99, please.”

“Whoa! Whooooaaa. That’s a bit pricey, my friend.”

“It’s…been this price for almost nine years, sir.”

“Still, though…$9.99. That’s almost, like…ten bucks.”

“…So do you not want your chicken, sir?”

“No, no, I’ll take it! Just…everything’s so expensive, man.”


» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.05.2018 @ 3:00 pm


“I went to the bank like you told me to.”

“No,” I replied. “No, you didn’t.”

He bristled. The hair on his head stood up in the cold breeze. “Are you calling me a liar?” he scowled.

“Yes,” I retorted, holding out my phone, “because I just checked the account. There were no deposits made in the past three days. Now, just tell me what you did with my money, and we can figure things out without my having to call the authorities.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.03.2018 @ 9:42 pm


My mother said to always eat my greens, but I didn’t think it’d turn me into a lean, mean, killing machine. Yet here I am, built for adequate slaughter, using machetes to protect my teenage daughter. I’m the Punisher’s protégé, yet I’m not quite certain I was ever prepared to take on this burden. I have to wonder if I’d add to the dead if I had loaded up on red meats and starches instead.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 07.02.2018 @ 3:38 pm


The monthly premium that my father paid for my mother’s insurance was gargantuan; I was amazed that he could afford it. He confided in me about it over martinis at the Dry Well in downtown Arkania, informing me that he was pulling from retirement funds.

“She’s not going to live that much longer, far as I can tell,” he said with a loud sigh. “And if she’s not with me, then I don’t think I want to stay retired for long.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.30.2018 @ 10:08 pm


Somebody told me that you told somebody else that I was seeing someone other than my beautiful wife. And I swear, once I find you, I’ll make you feel like the least somebody anybody could ever be.

Okay, now somebody told me that you didn’t tell somebody that I was seeing someone else. Which is good. ‘Cause I’m not seeing someone. There is no somebody. There is nobody. F*** off.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.29.2018 @ 11:53 pm


They say you shouldn’t shoot the messenger, yet here I am: bleeding profusely on the king’s carpet, mixing red with red, though the red from me will turn to brown in just a few hours as the oxygen in the air has its way with it. The king holsters his gun, and I am left to cling to what little life I have now as the monarch’s steward stares at me.

“Your Majesty,” he says, “do you think, perhaps, you may have overreacted a bit to the news?”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.28.2018 @ 10:44 pm


My poor 1994 Honda Civic needed new brakes, a new steering column, and four brand spanking new tires. I was almost wondering if it was time to turn in the old piece of scrap metal and invest in another car. However, the mechanic – a young, strapping lady with black hair and a cute smile – told me to reconsider.

“I can take of this, no problem,” she insisted. “For half the cost those other dealerships would milk out of you.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.27.2018 @ 9:46 pm


This is what we call the Gravy Train. It takes us past the small towns and the barren plains. It rips through the metropoli and lands us where the spotlights shine halos in a God forsaken sky. The hotels serve champagne under the moon’s gilded eye. You and I toast to good fortune. We won our tickets in a competition, and of our own volition, we dressed in sequins and, giggling all the way, boarded the sneering Gravy Train.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.26.2018 @ 10:16 pm


Just how many more elixirs are you going to pump down my throat before you claim that I’ve recovered my sanity? The formula tastes so bitter; it dries out my mouth and makes my teeth shake. I feel like I’m going to convulse so wildly that my soul will deliberately throw itself out of my body. And yet, you force me to stay in bed, claiming you’re “flushing out the toxins,” all while dousing my whimpering tongue with snake oil.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.25.2018 @ 8:48 pm


Marshall wanted a new washer and dryer, but Emery insisted that they couldn’t afford it. So they forked over quarter after quarter at the local laundromat, perpetually wasting money that they could have used up for newer and better machines. In the meantime, Chad got it in his head that perhaps hanging his wet clothes on a line would solve the problem. That was during the rainiest winter in a decade.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.24.2018 @ 9:42 pm


I tried to trust him. I tried to believe him. He told me he was set for life. He told me that his job was stable, that he’d quit drinking, that he was paying attention to his friends and family again. I let him back into my life because I thought he’d gotten better. Not cured, but rehabilitated. I TRUSTED him on that.

But three weeks later, he was unemployed. He came home with a bottle of gin and drank the whole thing in one sitting. Then he closed himself up in the spare bedroom and didn’t talk to me for two days.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.22.2018 @ 11:15 pm


We celebrated Emma’s 40th birthday at the Maxim Motel, where we snuck in cold bottles of bubbly and a box full of doughnuts we had snagged from the nearby grocery store. It had been two weeks since Emma had left her abusive bastard of a husband, so she was definitely doing most of the drinking. After we sang to her, she sang back to us, though she decided on a jazz standard than just repeating that obnoxious birthday tune.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.21.2018 @ 3:35 pm


“Give me the keys!”


“Give me the keys to your car!”


She was wild-eyed now. Her hair practically stood on end, and she was waving her hands in front of my face frantically. “I need to get out of here. Give me your keys!”

“Didn’t you drive?”

“No! But now Caleb’s in the next room, and I need. To. Get. Out of here!”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.20.2018 @ 9:21 am


Chester mowed the lawn, while Rosalyn raked the leaves. Their father drank a spiked iced tea on the porch, his eyes already glazing over despite the fact that it wasn’t even afternoon yet. The heat would encroach the neighborhood in about an hour or so, so the teens were doing their best to get the yard work done before they were caught in a sweltering, humid haze.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.18.2018 @ 10:51 am


Look above your head, and you will spot Sammy crawling across the ceiling again. She doesn’t need the skills of Spiderman to do it – look, the skin on her hands naturally adheres to the plaster, but not too much, so she can move quickly. Try not to scream; this is normal in our household, and at least Sammy is never bored. It gives her poor mother a break.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.16.2018 @ 9:37 pm


Watch the men all circle her. Watch her as they turn to planets – hardened rock and beings full of hot air, making their orbit each passing day, their revolutions jaunty and lopsided, with awkward sunsets and sunrises. She doesn’t notice them. She is facing outward, toward the stars, and all the other galaxies.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.15.2018 @ 6:59 pm


I don’t drink margaritas anymore, or eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because my metabolism has all the agility of a snail caught in a sticky quagmire on a warm and rainy June evening. I feast on salt and arugula and watch everyone else get thinner on beef and beer, and I wonder to myself just when my body decided to rebel against me. When it decided that occasional indulgence was toxic, and it needed to survive thirteen simultaneous Russian winters.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 06.13.2018 @ 8:48 pm

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