Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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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.”
» 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.”
“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?”
“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
You prepare a gourmet dinner for sixteen guests, all wearing frills and ruffles and smoking cigars. You fill snifters with your father’s brandy and watch the gold fade to pewter once it’s swished around in gaping mouths, red tongues flapping wet with alcohol and gossip and words you’d usually never speak.
Your uncle loves these parties and he insists that you host them. But in the end, you only wish to fade into the wallpaper as they laugh, belch, and rave.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.10.2012 @ 2:43 pm
Class was dismissed an hour early so we could go to a pub for an open mic night. Seeing Professor Doran drunk on daiquiris laughing about comma splices wasn’t exactly commonplace, but for me it was already expected. As my friend Cindy tossed back a sweet, sweet buttery nipple, I grabbed a full pitcher of amber and brought it swirling to the corner table.
“Thanks, Ray,” Martin grinned as he filled a pint glass and took a very long sip.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.09.2012 @ 8:07 pm
Brunch was meatloaf hash and a mimosa, the savory and the sweet. My mother ate a crepe while my dad resorted to French toast, as his sweet tooth was bullying his poor molars and tongue into submission.
“So,” my mother said with a raised fork, “when are you going to let us meet your boyfriend?”
I swallowed. “Some other time.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.08.2012 @ 6:42 pm
The man at the demonstration was naked from the waist down. As my son pointed and stared, I tried to cover his eyes with one hand while pushing my daughter’s stroller in the other.
” ‘Let it all hang out?’ ” I heard one man complain. “That’s such a lame pun!”
Really? I thought. Out of all the things you see, sir, that’s what you complain about?
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.07.2012 @ 7:11 pm
I swing my arm from the branch and lift myself onto the rotting tree house planks, their sighs and screams muffled by my lackluster girth. The air picks up around my face and stings at every clogged pore and every blemish I get to show off to the world.
My nephew, Timothy, is playing basketball with my cousins below. The concrete is dry and scarred, and I don’t want to climb down.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.06.2012 @ 12:25 pm
We tell everyone the same thing: Don’t try these stunts. We’re professionals. We’ve got years and years and years of training on us to do these so we have less of a risk of cracking our heads open on raw asphalt. But every year, it’s the same thing – a kid tries the 2003 motorcycle trick over a bridge, breaks his knees and his ribs, and we get sued for it.
I’ve started to save the subpoena notices. They’re tacked on our bulletin board.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.05.2012 @ 11:19 am
This was my town. Four buildings and a church. A general store, a hardware store, a lumber yard, a fire department. A banner proclaiming a brand new opportunity to have a Monte Carlo night.
I lived a mile or so away in the woods, a small cabin being my home. I had no TV, no computer, no DVD player. Just a record player for my musuc. And I loved it.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.04.2012 @ 2:13 pm
Sweat and stress blisters dotted his palms and fingers in beads. The constant itching and pain and swollen feeling. Dean had thought the dots were flat warts and stung the middle finger on his right hand with liquid nitrogen. The result was more pain. Red burns zipping up and down his cuticle and knuckle.
The tight black fabric of his gloves serving as the only comfort, he lay back against the couch cushions and hoped the ointment would work.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.03.2012 @ 6:26 pm
Weaving a tapestry with reds and silvers, she wanted to make the salmon of knowledge gleam upon a sea of blood. While Mother Ireland bled, she worked, as her husband’s sword and shield lay rusty with his enemy’s plasma beside her.
The screams had been shut out of her head long ago. Her son’s shadow lay against the wall like a tapestry of its own.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.02.2012 @ 11:19 am
The oil smelled sweet from the lantern deep in the caverns where miners had died. I drew up a cloak and breathed in all the smoke and held tight to your arm while you cried. We followed the light on a sinister night to a place where an exit was sure. Then my fingers did claw at a gap in the rocks so the sunlight would gingerly pour.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 03.01.2012 @ 12:17 pm
The cast and crew all waited for the director to step out of the small conference, expecting his face to be sagging with disappointment. The issues with the producer had run rampant throughout the studio, and now all they could do was hold their breath.
Harriet Sanderman, the youngest of the cast and the child star, bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She had so wanted this film to be completed, to show she was worth more than a few cute catchphrases.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.29.2012 @ 1:09 pm
A random name generator, clicked on with a mouse covered in mustard from fingers that just ate a rattlesnake sausage. Not kidding. No joke. I find Remus Archibald Thunder. Thunder is a last name? You learn something new every day.
The outline for my fantasy epic lies out in front of me like a dissected frog. The guts and entrails all spilling out in compact Times New Roman font. This whole process is going to end up killing me some day. Literally, not figuratively.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.28.2012 @ 1:41 pm
The staff had a jewel upon its head – a large jewel in the shape of a crescent moon, pounded out thin with red and gold shimmering in its folds and indents. Like malleable paper painted and made to shine in a moonless winter night.
She gripped the wood firmly and let it dance upon her palm. This was her stave now. Her mother was dead.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.27.2012 @ 1:38 pm
Popcorn flew in every direction along the industrial skyline of theater seats, red and plush as they always were, while the black and white face of a brand new celebrity beamed down upon the rowdy audience. The music behind the walls of the scene was blooming in a marvelous crescendo, just as a man hollered for the sexy lead actress to take off her blouse. And the shining knight of a performer arming the screen gave a token grin to the lone watcher as a cup of soda struck him in the nose.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.26.2012 @ 12:45 pm
“Mind giving me a lift?”
He was wearing a royal blue coat and a knit black cap, beard pointed outward like the arrow on a weather vane. Like it had been struck by lightning and now stood vividly on end in the London street lamps.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.25.2012 @ 8:55 pm
“Thanks for inviting me to the party,” Sammy said with an ear-straining grin. “I had a blast.”
Jesse responded with a toothy smile. The two had spent most of the time sitting on the black leather couch in the corner, drinking rum concoctions from pink plastic glasses and giggling about the latest Oscar nominated films. Both cinephiles and both lovers of the classics as well. It was lovely.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.24.2012 @ 12:26 pm
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I’m at a loss for words. At the end of the aisle, there is a man dressed in a black suit with a red tie and vest. The same hue as the rubies dripping from my ears.
My father’s bicep is firm and rough against my sleeve. Flaky skin against white. He doesn’t smile even when he lets me go.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.23.2012 @ 4:32 pm