Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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“Where’s my leading lady?” cried out Stewart Marx the Third, brandishing his empty champagne flute like a knife as the crowds of black tuxedos and silvery gowns pulled away.
She was on the stairwell, left hand delicately caressing the banister – as the tradition always was at the ballets and the operas. Show them off, everyone said.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.25.2012 @ 12:10 pm
As Harriet bent down to retrieve the scrap of paper that had flown out of her empty backpack, she recoiled at the sound of laughter. The three most popular girls in school – Lucy, Lisa, and Leslie – were all skipping toward her, pointing at her.
“Getting your letter from your boyfriend?” they teased before dancing away.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.24.2012 @ 11:52 am
We settled into a small “log” lodge just on the outskirts of the ski resort, its pseudo-rustic appearance giving way to pseudo-comforting interior design. Plush green couches, a bristling fire with a overly fur-bedecked mantle piece (making me worry that the hairs would be set ablaze, though they’d burn out very easily), and a small table with lukewarm coffee to drink.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.23.2012 @ 12:26 pm
Mister Rivera had to closely monitor his sugar intake after seeing the doctor the other day. He had first gone in for a simple check-up on a rather nasty sunburn on the top of his ear – the skin on the lobe had bubbled up somewhat into a strange, lightning bolt-shaped blister, and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to get worse. Instead, after a very precarious blood pressure reading, he was being given pamphlets on diabetes.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.22.2012 @ 12:21 pm
“It’s time for you to go on a quest!” barked the cloaked man to the girl dressed in light bronze armor, who crinkled her brow in bewilderment.
“The quest…” the man let the words hover in the air like scattering dust, “…of greatness!”
“…Uh,” said the girl, “mind being a bit more specific than that?”
“Oh, for the love of – it’s a quest. You go on a quest. it’s awesome. What more could you want?”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.21.2012 @ 12:51 pm
Someone is calling your name. You don’t know who it is. You don’t even know if he’s calling you in particular. It could be someone else with your name. It could be anyone else with your name.
He stands on the sharpest outcropping of rock, several yards away from you, among the muddle of tourists that has crowded around where he stands. Below are the falls and rapids of the Yosemite wilderness.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.20.2012 @ 8:09 pm
“What are you going to do with that pile of books?” Mom asked me as I sifted through the various papers lain across my desk.
“Build a bookshelf for them?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to build things?”
“Sure, Ma. Max does. Ricky does. I do, too.”
“And you’re sure you want to keep them?”
“Ma,” I protested, “I love reading. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane during my work hours.”
“Yes, Ma,” I smiled. “Besides Lucy.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.19.2012 @ 12:47 pm
First base, second base, and third base were all loaded – by red-skinned aliens. Not from Mars or Neptune or anything like that. From far away, where they had a literal World Series (not like us. We have a U.S. Series. Why don’t we call it that?).
These bad boys were facing the New York Yankees in the semifinals of the intergalactic round of baseball. There were no high stakes. No threats. We were just playing ball. And the aliens rocked at it.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.18.2012 @ 12:06 pm
The backspace was covered in dust on his computer. “Delete” was “d——” amidst the gray. In all of his life, typing away at his scripts, stories, and poetry – he had never, ever deleted anything.
The same went with typos, too. His poor editor had to go through pages upon pages of screwed up language and vocabulary, because the man refused to go back and edit anything he mistyped.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.17.2012 @ 12:25 pm
Joey had dreamed of a bittersweet romance. Not a succulent one. Like eating dark chocolate without a gooey cherry center. Or caramel. Caramel, to her, was the epitome of overindulgent sweetness. Like asking your tongue to wrestle for glory against a swamp of sticky kisses.
She sat down at the café with a black coffee and a croissant. All butter. No sugar.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.16.2012 @ 12:25 pm
“Start your engines!” the pubescent announcer squeaked on the makeshift intercom as the tiny little automobiles revved up. As Bobby McFinn lowered his helmet, he did not notice his father beaming from the crowd of bystanders waiting for the race to begin. Boys and girls from nine to thirteen years old all prepared for the competition, vehicles splashed with colors and stickers and stars.
But Bobby did see Jessica Bonnet at her sleek black racecar, giving him the thumbs up.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.15.2012 @ 1:30 pm
A bright blue insect which I could not identify nestled itself in between the wall and my oak desk. Its wings appeared to be like crystal, drops of sun sprinkling across its reflective sheen, bits and pieces of rainbow foundation scattering about my white walls. I wanted to retrieve a book of mine and see what its name was, but instead all I could do was look at it over my stream of notes.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.14.2012 @ 12:41 pm
“Please disregard the obnoxious woman in the back,” said the bedraggled professor as the thirty-something-year-old student glowered at him behind horn rims. “I’m trying to discuss physics. There is no room for religious argument.”
“Why did we even get on that topic to begin with?” asked Sam.
The professor shrugged. “No one likes to be proven wrong.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.13.2012 @ 12:39 pm
I was lending a hand to a little boy who wanted to reach a box of Wheat Thins on a very tall shelf in the local grocery store when I saw Harry limping down the aisle. He looked much more leathery than before, as if the sun had taken his face out to a barbecue and marinated it was thick, sweet sauce. His pupils noticeably dilated even from a distance, but he seemed to recognize me.
“Well,” he said with a wispy laugh. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.12.2012 @ 12:32 pm
“I see you’ve lost your luggage.”
“Yes. I have paperwork and tickets and everything…”
“May I ask what the luggage looked like?”
“Yeah. Sparkly. Can’t miss it.”
“May I ask what color your luggage is?”
“I dunno. A sparkly color?”
“Oookay. How about the stuff on it. Does it have a particular tag?”
“…It has sparkly zippers.”
“Okay, how about – ”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.11.2012 @ 11:54 am
The most primitive form of technology in 2300 was the cellphone. I was amazed that people even still used it. We had grown accustomed to our cyberglasses, monocles, headgear, and earpieces. We drove cars and talked with them on a daily basis. But I saw a man with a cellphone, chatting to a friend. It was surreal.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.10.2012 @ 12:51 pm
Diane is so outgoing! She’s incredibly outgoing. She’ll talk to anyone, even the wide-eyed, drooling stranger asking for beer on the street. She won’t give him change, though, or call someone to have him taken to a hospital. But she’s unbelievably outgoing. One time she went to a party and made out with every boy there. And a couple of girls, too. They didn’t remember it in the morning. I wonder if they had any diseases. But Diane is so painfully outgoing. One time, she decided to meet my boyfriend, and they’ve been together for two years now. Even though my boyfriend said we’d get married! Isn’t that something. She’s so diabolically outgoing.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.09.2012 @ 9:55 pm
His letter in shorthand apologized for not having enough money to pay off the monthly $60 increments of gas; for not always coming home on time, given the traffic; for not having the family room vacuumed exactly during the same day as requested. He was sorry for the temper tantrums, the overspending, and the occasional emotional meltdowns that molded his poor brain like soft silver.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.08.2012 @ 12:08 pm
While he was tasting the country merlot, I was sitting in the corner with a loaf of bread and a bundle of grapes, their fruity fingers taunting me as I dangled the fruits above my gaping mouth. As I worked the seeds out from between my teeth, I saw a red-dressed lady swirling chardonnay in a long-stemmed glass, only she was paying attention to me and not the wine.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.07.2012 @ 6:17 pm
The instrumental playing over the airport intercom was hardly an instrumental. It was more like a painfully stilted rendition of what should have been a brilliant piece of classical music, only the flute sounded like a tin whistle, the oboes were like rubbing metal against metal, and the whole melody sounded like it was being squished down a funnel and turned into a disgusting cacophonic soup.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.06.2012 @ 12:55 pm
He was nominated for Best Individual To Walk Into A Grocery Store Asking For A Pound of Gouda Cheese, Only To Find That There Was No Gouda, Causing Him Or Her To Throw A Hissy Fit And Sucker Punch The Bagger (Who Liked To Call Himself A Courtesy Clerk) And Then Storm Out After Setting The Produce Section On Fire.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.05.2012 @ 1:03 pm
An upright and noble citizen who wore a fine tweed suit and purple tie – like a lilac sprouting freshly out of gray clouds and mist – approached a man who screamed that God wished that the Jews and gays and Catholics would all die and burn in the fiery pits of Hell. And that citizen held up a sign for the man to read, with three simple, debonair words: “I forgive you.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.04.2012 @ 12:41 pm
“I have a minimal hearing loss,” said Gary, hanging his head in shame. “That’s why I talk so funny.”
He didn’t talk that funny. I knew him from Mrs. Lowe’s second grade class and all he did was spit a bit when he said s’s. I knew when I talked to him, he’d have to ask me to repeat myself because he couldn’t hear me right. But I never minded. Not even five years later.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.03.2012 @ 7:59 pm
Difficult to separate the child from the adult. The beanie and the briefcase. The baseball bat and the golf club. The milk carton and the champagne glass. Silly putty melting in the sun. Hot glue on a board fused to make a new porch. Puppy dogs. Old dogs. Lots of red locks on the head. Lots of gray stubble around the jaw. Smiles. Smiles.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 05.01.2012 @ 7:15 pm
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name…”
I wasn’t listening to the Lord’s Prayer. Or the priest’s heavy breathing. Or my mother’s muttering as she clenched my hand. I felt the pressure of bodies around me, the heat of fingers and palms, the warmth radiating from old women’s cheeks and old men’s noses. I tried to focus on the movement of oxygen and carbon dioxide weaving in and out of pious Catholic nostrils.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.30.2012 @ 12:25 pm
His alibi was simple: He was at home having sex with his wife. Only it wasn’t his wife. It was his boss’s wife, having an affair with him. Only it wasn’t an affair. It was an accidental one-night-stand after drinking too much vodka. Only it wasn’t vodka. It was very strong ancient rum, excavated from the ruins of a Mexican temple. Only it wasn’t a Mexican temple. It was some fogie’s destroyed house after he had accidentally lit himself on fire with his own cigarette.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.29.2012 @ 4:51 pm
The balloons, for the third time, lifted into the air like great red bubbles willing to burst into light froth. As the children tossed the water bombs at each other’s skulls, I sat with a lemonade and sucked it through a straw, my shades protecting me from the sun’s toothless grin. Fortunately, my skin was able to get a rather nice tan most days, enough to get the handsome gym teacher to notice me as he walked across the blacktop.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.27.2012 @ 6:06 pm
Johnny was the poster boy for Transcendent Cologne – a product that attempted to be Zen while still catering to the bloated market of overhyped aromas. As he strutted around the shoot with his abs glistening with sweat, he watched as his photographers confided with his manager, juggling a bottle of the stuff between them. They couldn’t decide between his holding a fat bottle or a small flask.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.26.2012 @ 12:33 pm
The gladiator bore blood on his chest as his only armor, standing amidst the sluggish sea of decaying corpses stinking from their own plasma and fecal matter. In the audience above, the emperor of Rome was laughing, clapping his fat hands together over and over, like a toddler just given a shiny bauble. The warrior, sweat mixing with the gashes in his forehead and causing them to sting, could not make himself look at the ruler of the empire. Not even when the audience jeered him to raise his sword in triumph.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.25.2012 @ 9:08 pm
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Licking his very chapped lips, Gregory crouched down beside the frayed wires of the old computer monitor. His fingers twitched as he touched the fiery metal prongs, trying to work meticulously with them as his client watched cautiously from behind him.
“I don’t really know what happened to this,” he muttered, “but it looks bad.”
Gregory gritted his teeth. “Bad enough to need a new computer monitor?”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.24.2012 @ 1:14 pm