Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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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
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
A crossfire medical examination made Lucy cross and Larry even crosser. The festering marks on the poor woman’s hands never seemed to go away or lose their color. It was always red. Red, red, red. Very very red. Like a traffic light against the industry skyline of Los Angeles. Pastel red that grew warm sticky in polluted air. And always that tender stinging from the core of the wound to the very edges.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.22.2012 @ 11:15 am
In the gallery, the paintings were melting. Not due to the hot sun, but due to the gaze of the surrealist, sipping a glass of sauvignon blanc imported from Italian (which he had surprisingly been able to sneak into the museum without anyone noticing. The guard even asked for a sip). As his Dalí-esque mustache bounced with excitement, he let his arms become crooked like the hands of the clock and tick tock, tick tock away.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.21.2012 @ 6:18 pm
The curse on her face was not beauty, nor was it ugliness. It was the expression of utmost fear – the painted panic like flaking rouge on two fat cheeks – that would not waver. All day and night, she stared through the window with two bulging eyes and pale cheekbones, lips quivering below her beaked nose. She was constantly afraid, and the terror never, ever ceased.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.20.2012 @ 1:15 pm
The red balloon had Mother’s face on it. The green one had Father’s. A strange pair of etched portraits bloated with the effects of helium. I couldn’t turn my eyes away.
The entire town was being cursed like this. It had started with a carnival. Now the balloons were circling the entire city. All with the faces of my friends and family. Blankly staring. Threatening to burst.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.19.2012 @ 12:27 pm
We found shelter in the form of a lost cabin, broken down and splintered in the Sonoma rain. The vineyards surrounding the bare-boned acres of the property were withered and brown, some ends scorched as if by flame.
It was clear that the troops had gone through here before, scouring for survivors. But after that, it was as if they had been happy with leaving the ghost behind.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.18.2012 @ 12:34 pm
Scooter was back on track in March, serving pancakes at Bobby Pan’s diner just down the street from his grandmother’s house. His grandfather’s death, though sudden, had inspired him to get off the couch once and for all, most likely leaving a human imprint on the worn down cerulean cushions. He was glad to get away from the smell, too.
Bringing a plate of waffles laden with syrup to the pretty girl at the corner table, Scooter smiled. It was a broken toothed smile, similar to his gramps, the kind of smile they exchanged when they had gone fishing together years earlier.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.17.2012 @ 1:26 pm
“The ants went marching one by one, hoorah, hoorah!”
“Griffith! That’s not a nice song to sing while the ants are going straight toward the boric acid!”
Griffith wrinkled his pug nose and shrugged. “Well, you’re the one who thought about poisoning them in the first place.”
His sister, Lindsay, sighed. The whole bathroom had been infested with the buggers for a week, and the spray hadn’t worked. She felt that she had to go to the extreme.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.16.2012 @ 12:09 pm
The detective was a remarkable flirt, as every film noir dame seemed to swoon for his Brooklyn accent and his floppy fedora. At least, that’s what it seemed like to the detective as he sipped from a martini glass and drew a picture of a dog eating a sandwich on his notepad.
The Halloween party was going marvelously and several suspects had become so drunk he could now question them. He’d have to talk to the Superman in the cheap franchise costume set soon enough.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.15.2012 @ 11:56 am
“Do you know who he is?”
“Not a clue.”
“Seriously? I thought you had a class with him.”
“No, that guy was sexier.”
“And he had a deeper voice.”
“Oh. So…how did he know my name?”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you these questions?”
“Oh. …Yeah. Maybe. I guess.”
“So…do YOU have any idea who he is?”
“Not a clue.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.14.2012 @ 1:25 pm
There was green candy candy at the carnival, and pizza slices sold by the bridge. Harvey Talon got a squeaky hammer for a prize at one of the water gun games and drove his father nearly mad. Meanwhile, his little sister, Ginger, was on the ferris wheel with her new boyfriend, and they were making out to the sounds of the screams from the clickety-clackety haunted house ride down below.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.13.2012 @ 12:29 pm
The maze of apricot haze and clouds swarmed violently around the small gang of high school students, all traipsing nervously about the mud and soot that coated the ground with a strange mixed ebony and gray hue. The mists appeared to be practically solid, as none of the boys and girls wanted to really attempt to breach the orange-brown walls that surrounded them.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.12.2012 @ 1:47 pm
The festival? The festival! It was happening all over again. The streamers dangling from each window, the heavenly smell of dishes from all over town. Francis’s baked fish, Granny Storm’s pies, and of course, Mister Fox’s fresh meats, cheeses, and soups. And the boys were at it again, dancing and cavorting about in their fancy red jackets and new brown shoes. I watched them with a cup of ale and felt the familiar smile creep across my lips again.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.11.2012 @ 3:33 pm
Max was the only little boy in school who wanted a pony. He wanted to brush it, groom it, even braid its mane with ribbons and flowers. Max’s father didn’t like the idea at all, and for Christmas he got him a BB gun and plenty of G.I. Joe action figures.
“I don’t want those,” Max had bawled, such a tiny boy amidst all the wrapping paper.
“You do want those,” his father had replied, nostrils flaring. “You do want those and you like them!”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.10.2012 @ 12:47 pm
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The two lovers wanted to adopt. Sure, they could have a child of their own, or two, or maybe even three. But the thought of adopting warmed their fingers against their coffee cups and their cheeks against their color-matching scarves. They talked about raising a child who needed a family, bringing him or her out of a dire situation or utmost despair and sadness. A little dash of hope in a gigantic pot of emotion.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 02.09.2012 @ 12:36 pm