Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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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


As the small gold and bronze pins clung for dear life to the many rolls and folds of her hair, Samantha jigged and polka-ed and promenaded all across the small pub where the older men whistled from behind their masks of accordions and fiddles. A young boy, Steven, played a small wooden piccolo and could not help but watch the blond and fair girl dance to the sound of Irish whims.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.09.2012 @ 2:34 pm


Heartache on Easter was not all that common. Christmas, definitely. Valentine’s Day, of course. Even Thanksgiving could provide that same lonely pang in the gut and right beneath the ribcage. But Easter? Not so much.

Benny glumly sat by himself at the small dinner table arranged in his flat, gazing at the basket of Easter candy that his mother had sent him. But no amount of Cadbury eggs or sweet Bordeaux could appease his sweet tooth or his once sweet mind. He had met Lucy on Easter.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.08.2012 @ 11:54 am


The symbiotic android’s heart branches outward into three black, separate limbs. The first of the limbs carries the oxygen of good will. The second, hydrochloric carelessness. The third, a medicinal dose of happy. In the core of the android’s heart is a clear fluid, which throbs and pulses with the general human emotions of love and hatred. It is a simple tree, nothing else.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.07.2012 @ 1:11 pm


Ruby lips are so cliché. Try some cerulean for once. Sky lips glistening from across the room. Better than sapphire – that kind of blue’s too dark.

It’ll contrast with the green olive in your glass. The silver stem. The golden dress. The black hat pushed over his short brown hair. Sky lips powdered with pink clouds. And the eyes are completely white.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.06.2012 @ 12:35 pm


He was willful and willing enough to take the jousting challenge. Seated atop a rather gluttonously fat steed, he donned a plumed helmet which feathers seemed to reach the heavens. He thought perhaps he would look regal or powerful, but in truth, many of the spectators giggled and believed he looked like a peacock. He was a fop on a horse to them. Not a good sign.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.05.2012 @ 12:12 pm


“Was he wearing a hood?”


“Was he wearing a hood?”


“He was wearing a hood.”


“So he looked suspicious.”

“No, he was just wearing a hood.”

“But hoods are suspicious looking.”

“It was raining.”


“Everyone wears hoods when it’s raining.”

“Yeah, and they all look like suspicious little ninjas.”

“Ted, if you continue to try to justify this boy’s death because of one article of clothing, I will justify your death because you pissed me off with your stupidity.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.04.2012 @ 11:48 am


With a flip of the switch and a little hand trick, Arthur let the lights flood the big stage. In the great amphitheater, people drank bulbous liter upon liter of spiced, liquid rage. When the actors all strode on the upstage road toward their destiny marked on a page, audience was in tears – no bad words or bad jeers – for the oddest little show of the age.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.03.2012 @ 1:20 pm


This is your flight attendant speaking. If my voice sounds garbled and you can’t comprehend one iota of a word I am saying, then that’s just your bad luck. I would mention something about the safety regulations, but in an actual emergency involving our imminent deaths in the middle of the Atlantic, I hardly find them relevant. If you want, you can put on the oxygen masks and pretend to be a gas mask person from Doctor Who. Ask your neighbor if he or she is your mommy. Thank you, and have a scary flight.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.02.2012 @ 6:45 pm


The blaze in his eyes melted fire from a chunk of brimstone that he held in his large, gray fist. Where his skin touched the lava, it scalded and peeled away, revealing a strange layer of gold underneath. Raising his burning hand, he pressed his palm against his scarred fist, and as he screamed and I stared in horror, the flesh flecked away in large strips and ribbons, until what was standing there was not a man, but a golden statue, an attempt to be a god gone wrong.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 04.01.2012 @ 9:22 pm


“They were after my lucky charms,” he grumbled to me in the small pub on the outskirts of Limerick. I had found him with his top hat to the side, his green coat tangled around his shoulders, swigging from a tall glass of Guinness. He swept a thick strand of red hair from his exasperated eyes and groaned a smelly groan. “They were always after my lucky charms.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.31.2012 @ 3:03 pm


Three rainy days, separated by four overcast days. Some people like those kinds of days to write. Others like those kinds of days to sleep. I like to take walks while the drizzle prickles my hair follicles and coats my face in damp sleep. Because while the sun is clawing to burst through the clouds, the slumber of the mist is all too familiar. And I let my boots grow wet from the puddles that coalesce around this world’s face.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.30.2012 @ 12:14 pm


Make a splash at the party tonight! Wear a tight red dress! Paint your lips with bubble gum! Sew new lashes into your eyelids! Pull back your hair! Mutilate your scalp! Stab your ears! Then put on those killer (literally) heels and waltz right into that cramped living room. The Smirnoff is just waiting for your sweet kiss.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.29.2012 @ 11:41 am


We capture small children every day. Some are black and some are white. Some are skinny and some are fat. The fat ones are good for cannon fodder. We put them in the tanks and wheel them onto the field.

People say we’re sick, but we know there’s a war to be won. The adults won’t fight. We need the children. They have the passion in their hearts. But then someone calls me devil and I don’t understand why. Am I devil? Or am I messiah for making these kids fight for the cause?

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.28.2012 @ 5:39 pm


The catcher of the baseball team was reading Catcher in the Rye in the locker room while his son hung a dreamcatcher in his bedroom about two hundred miles away. If the catcher looked really hard at the pages of his book, he could catch a glimpse or smudges on the print. Meanwhile, his son was catching up with his homework and watching the feathers of his new decoration dance against the light breeze caught from his bedroom window.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.27.2012 @ 12:02 pm


My toy boat was drifting on the waves of Stinson Beach. I had placed it there because the little sailor who steered the toy boat wanted an adventure at sea. I hoped he would not be thirsty or hungry, but the sailor told me he never needed water or food. I wanted to see him tip his hat or salute to me as he disappeared into the foam, but he was just a speck in my vision now and I couldn’t see him from where I stood on the sand.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.26.2012 @ 12:56 pm


At four am, I lost my temper waiting for a call from my fiancé ’cause he was still drinking at a party filled with horny girls, and I was hopeless for some answers ’cause he said he would return two hours ago. And he’s still not home.

I tried to call him, but his phone just went to static with his warbling voice all growing icy in the winter winds around him, saying, “This is Charlie, leave a message, I’ll get back to you.” That’s bullshit. So I punched a pillow and sat grumpy on the couch until I crashed.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.25.2012 @ 4:39 pm


The most exquisite suits were on display in the great metropolis of Rathbone, and all the most noble suitors for the duchess’s daughter were sifting through the aisles for the best pick. Balzac de Grazi, the richest of the barons, was gazing at a bright red display, while a green embroidered black tailcoat caught the eye of Reginald Alviera.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.24.2012 @ 2:29 pm

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