Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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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


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.”

“How bad?”

Gregory gritted his teeth. “Bad enough to need a new computer monitor?”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.24.2012 @ 1:14 pm


My scorn was not unbridled toward the tiny child sitting with a beanie on his head and a red lollipop that was growing sticky in his left hand. He stood above the wreckage of what used to be little cars and green soldiers and building blocks, and the look on his pink face was more than sheepish.

“Billy,” I growled.

He lowered his head. “Msry.”

“What was that?”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.23.2012 @ 12:17 pm


The entrée set before me was a remarkable display of meats, sauces, and greens, all seasoned and simmered to perfection. My boyfriend’s mother was beaming, a beacon of light from her cheeks and nose, as I sampled the mosaic of delicacies before me. The flavors practically exploded in my mouth, like little fireworks popping around the back of my teeth.

“Superb as usual, Mrs. Wainsworth,” I told her.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.22.2012 @ 12:29 pm


It was the sound of stomachs rumbling that caught the attention of Lawrence the Chef, who hovered over his many black pots and pans that bubbled with what he perceived to be tasty goodies. The stews were stewing, the boiled potatoes were boiling, the soup was…souping, and all was well. He took a large ladle and scooped up a cooked leek, sampling the flavor and grunting a noise of approval to himself.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.21.2012 @ 3:13 pm


Black swan, white swan, and gray swan all danced in a row on a brown stage. The composer leaned back and smiled with crooked teeth. The master of ballet himself balanced on the balls of his feet with excitement. Behind the curtains, the ensemble, all dressed in blue, waited for their moment to shine in front of the crowded, tailcoated, long-gowned audience, scrutinizing their art with tiny brass binoculars.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.20.2012 @ 7:58 pm


“It was a slight lapse in communication.”

“Slight? Slight?” barked Mrs. Birch, glowering over her old-fashioned pince-nez. “Freaking gargantuan is more like it! Mister Hernandez, do you have any idea how much your words will impact our school?”

The short little black-haired man was fidgeting. It was amazing how a Coors-influenced Facebook comment could spark so much fury from so many people. Especially the gay-affirmative Cynthia Birch.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.19.2012 @ 12:58 pm


“He wears his sunglasses at night.”

“Why?” I asked with a small grin. “Because of that song?”

“What song?”

“I can’t remember who sang it, but it’s called ‘I Wear My Sunglasses At Night.'”

“Oh.” Peter pursed his lips. “Oh, dear.”


“See, Charlie is full-blown hipster,” chuckled Peter. “He believes he thought of it first.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.18.2012 @ 11:28 am


She wear the gold speckled earring in her left lobe, her right one singed off by a fire at her small cottage in York. She had not bothered to get a new patch of skin attached, and she preferred to wear her wound like it was a war injury. In a way, however, it was – she had not been foolish and caused a cooking accident. She had really been the victim of arson, and a very angry husband.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.16.2012 @ 11:59 am


Professor Bertram kept a small container of snuff within the lowest drawer of his old, oaken desk. The inhalation of the drug calmed him, the tremor in his right hand dissipating as he settled himself down in his chair to correct papers. The seven-page essay written out by one of his star pupils immediately enticed him, and he shuffled other leaves aside to read the particularly pounded out text.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.15.2012 @ 1:04 pm


The smell of warm chocolate chip scones enticed Freddy as she traipsed her way into the small Irish bakery. Within glass display cabinets, she could see sausage rolls, curry pie, and Irish brown bread. It all made her mouth water as she traced her fingers along the glass, not noticing the shopkeeper approaching her with alarming speed.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.14.2012 @ 12:13 pm


His bones rattled in his stone chest as he lumbered down the dirt road toward the temple where idols awaited his gaze. The nearly human golem, as he was called, often went to the perodot-carved archway to kneel to the graying altar and offer sacrifices for the goddesses. The goddesses he knew by name, by age, and by face – only he was the one who was able to see them. He, the unnatural entity haunting the human landscape.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.13.2012 @ 1:56 pm


The cold gray water nourished me, and I lay my head across the bed of pines and tried to sleep. The somber pounding of hooves against the dirt as troops sought for me has been reduced to an insistent echo in the left corner of my mind. I was almost too afraid to close my eyes, thinking that the men wearing black uniforms would return.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.12.2012 @ 12:20 pm


“I’m dying!”

“You’re not dying.”

I was cradling her in my arms, grasping at her wrist with feeble fingers. The two large puncture wounds from the now dead rattlesnake were already beginning to turn purple.

“I’m going to die!” she wailed, the tears beginning to swell up the backs of her eyes.

I clung to her and buried my face in her hair, waiting for help.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.11.2012 @ 4:52 pm


My calico cat looked more like a puddle of fluff as it lay on the floor in between the couch and the television. Its glossy green eyes seemed to be glued to the screen, its head tilted as Maury Povich decided that the more redneck-esque guy of the bunch was the father. As I sat down and reached for the remote, a small, plaintive yowl could be heard as my thumb strayed toward the channel button.

“What?” I asked my cat. “You want to watch trash?”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.10.2012 @ 7:31 pm

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