Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie

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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


The chalk left a harsh green residue on Shelly’s fingers as she scraped at the gray pavement, shoulders stiff and sore as she hunched over her work. To her right, street artists had all gathered to make their creations, their borders clearly drawn in stark, hostile white. Lifting her head for a split second, Shelly spotted Jerry drawing the remains of a horseman of death with red and gold.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.23.2012 @ 11:47 am


“You’ve got something else in the trunk again?”


“It’s not glitter, is it?”

“Why would it be glitter?”

Ginger grinned. “From the fabulous arts project that QSA put together.”

“I banned anything glittery from my car after that,” I sighed. “Took ages to clean it all out.”

“Well, you know what they say…”

“Don’t say it.”


I groaned.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.22.2012 @ 12:14 pm


The games were fixed. The winners were white. The winners were black. The weapons were blunted. The games were fixed. The women were skinny. The men were tan. The children were Aryan. The children were Arabs. The games were fixed. Hitler was a judge. Stalin was a judge. Obama was a judge. Bush was a judge. That little old man put money on Cindy. He owns half of a giant corporation. The games were fixed. They used little tools. Aliens were responsible. Elves caused chaos. Magic. Religion. Cults. Atheism. The games were fixed. All it took was a hammer.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.21.2012 @ 11:52 am


When the two women kissed, ratings nearly had a heart attack. The demographic for horny men ages 30-50 skyrocketed, while the demographic for religious women 20 and up plummeted. There was a particular growth in viewership from young girls questioning their sexuality, but that subsided when it turned out the two characters had just made out for shits and giggles. One thing to take note of was that the children viewership did not change – they were out playing tag and drinking soda and didn’t really give a damn.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.20.2012 @ 12:41 pm


The Christmas pageant featured gingerbread house building, carols, and a nativity play. My son Theodore was playing one of the three Wise Men, and his older sister had sewn the costume for him. Since he was the one meant to bring in gold, we decided the outfit should have some gold touches to its purple hue. He wore it well for the most part…until he tripped on the stage and tore the robe wide open.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.19.2012 @ 11:31 am


I held a torch up so that the etchings in the stone glowed with a faint yet sinister light. I had never seen these runes, nor had the doctor standing beside me, the flames glancing off his thick spectacles and giving them the appearance of melting gold. I let my fingers get very close to tracing each shape, each devoted scratch in the wall, until the doctor spoke.

“What do you think it says?”

I sighed. I didn’t think that was for us to ever know.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.18.2012 @ 1:03 pm


A leprechaun stapled a pot of gold to a poor Irishman’s head and scurried off cackling. Now how the leprechaun had done this, or how just an enormous and heavy cauldron filled with precious metal was able to dangle off the bloke’s crown without snapping the metal bracket or ripping off flesh…was beyond everyone in the village. Still, as everyone clawed for the gold, I sat in the patch of shamrocks playing my flute and hoped that the poor gentleman wouldn’t be torn to pieces for a few lumps of flaxen impurity.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.17.2012 @ 11:38 am


The sky was an array of pastel whirlwinds as the seven red planes jettisoned into the twilight of the new planet. As the roses, red and tinged with white like snow against a bloody wound, snaked their way out of the dark hardened earth, the pinnacles of civilizations, tough and wrought with what looked like iron and crystal, was more appealing to me than they had ever been these past six years I had lived here as a human ambassador.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.16.2012 @ 5:59 pm


The monstrosity’s pattern was black and white stripes racing down in a spiral toward claws made of iron. His tongue like wick held the flame of his wrath and his teeth the sharp horns that blew fatal desires. I struck at his noise with a stave I had carved from an old willow tree that always seemed to be ever crying.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.15.2012 @ 7:52 pm


We would like to ask that you turn off all cellphones, pagers, smartphones, video cameras, regular cameras, extraterrestrial cameras, microphones, babies, small children, angry grandparents, stereos, cars, screams, leg thumping, radios, televisions, iPods, laptops, desktops, blacktops, or any other form of loud thinking during the duration of this performance.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.14.2012 @ 5:12 pm


Dozens of petitions were signed with red ink by masqueraders wearing sequins. The petitions called for an end to x-y-z preventative services for some form of personal refusal to cater to any greater human service. Meanwhile, a gay man was told he couldn’t buy condoms because he didn’t need them and his hellspawn wouldn’t spring from any deeper bowel sources. The store owner was promptly socked in the jaw by a liberal messiah.

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.13.2012 @ 5:07 pm


“Therefore, it is my belief that God-given rights of this country.”


Father Jacques arched an eyebrow threateningly at the young girl in the pew. “Is there a problem, Miss Jenny?”

“You made an error,” Jenny replied. “You said God-given rights.”


“That’s clearly inaccurate. They’re Bob-given rights.”

“Miss Jenny…”

“I want Bob to receive credit where credit is due!”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.12.2012 @ 11:52 am


“You always say that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You recycle that line so much. Over and over and over again. I always hear it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“When we were having that picnic? When you forgot to go to my concert? When you were too tired to go out dancing? Or were you actually tired?”

“Look, I…”

“Don’t say it again. Just throw it out. I don’t want to hear it, not one more time. Barkeep, ‘nother Blue Moon.”

» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.11.2012 @ 2:47 pm

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