Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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Sparkling apple cider was set in front of me at the counter, and I caught Cecilia’s reflection in the flute glass. She was standing in the corner, talking to Marshall. Her eyes kept wandering.
I took a long sip and shuddered in the sweetness. If I stayed long enough, maybe she would notice me.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.11.2012 @ 11:17 am
The food was bland, and the show Herman was watching on the telly was even blander. I let the flat and took the lift down to the bottom floor, where I saw a girl carrying the laundry in. Her clothes were bland, too. All whites and pastel pinks. I went out for a smoke near the Thames and let the smells knock me backward.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.10.2012 @ 11:42 am
“Savage Garden? I remember them! Their songs were so marvelously sappy.”
We were rummaging through our boxes and towers of CDs before Dad started the garage sale. Rhonda had uncovered several of her Celine Dion disks, while I had found my Backstreet Boy ones. We giggled like schoolgirls again as we searched.
“To think I occasionally still listen to all this,” I laughed.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.09.2012 @ 2:15 pm
Lillies dancing across pads of green and brown. The fall mixing with the spring air. Chimney smoke trapped under a frothy sun.
You exit your office building with your briefcase dripping with coffee. Your co-worker spilled his mug across your lap. You sit by the pond for a bit and let your cheeks grow red in the hybrid of heat and frost. You are alone, and you are happy.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.08.2012 @ 12:26 pm
The oil dripping from the pipe was a bright, bright silver. Not golden brown nor pitch black like muddy tar on a warm asphalt road. We took a bottle of it and brewed it in the bellies of our truck, and the truck ran for months without needing a refill.
Everyone wanted some of this miracle oil, but we didn’t know how it had happened. A fluke in the system or some mishap of nature. But all the same, people wanted it. And they wanted it fast.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.07.2012 @ 12:14 pm
A dozen donuts with red, blue, green, and white frosting sat in a cardboard box on the coffee table when Derek got back from work. He grabbed a maple old-fashioned and let his incisors close in on the sugary dough and hardened sugar, savoring the flavor of the American delicacy. When he was halfway through the donut, he found a note beside the box from his wife, Tracy.
“Enjoy these diabete donuts. They’re a symbol of my looooooove. XOXOXOXO”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.06.2012 @ 11:44 am
Hillary took the speckled apron and draped it over her son’s chest, tying a simple butterfly knot around his back. He held the spatula in one tiny fist and the ladle in the other, grinning from ear to ear.
“Do I look like a cook now, Mommy?” he asked, the gap in his front teeth clearly showing.
Hillary smiled with watery eyes. “You look like a master.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.05.2012 @ 11:54 am
There were thorns growing out of his head instead of horns. Bristly, tipped red and angry. They snagged onto the leaves of low trees and sent shrieking branches toppling down into the dirt. He made no move to trim them.
He could have used a fine soil and seed, a little fresh water, to kill the thorns and have irises or petunias grow from his crown instead. Instead, he sat on a rock and waited for the thorns to grow from all parts of him. He waited for them to choke him.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.04.2012 @ 3:54 pm
“There’s a skull in the trunk of your car.”
“I know. It’s a vampire skull.”
“…Is that why there’s glitter in the back, too?”
“Pssh, no. That’s Twilight shit. That’s not actually true.”
“Oh. Then what is it?”
“Well, you know how vampires tend to explode into ash when the sun goes down?”
“…So they explode in glitter and you still got the skull?”
“…Yeah, I guess my story isn’t too plausible now, is it?”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.03.2012 @ 11:25 am
Champagne two days after New Year’s Eve? Gladly! Pour it pink. Pour it pink and pour it blue. But of course you can have blue champagne, darling, anything’s possible with food coloring.
The food is simply to die for tonight in the city. Shrimp in lime juice and garlic sauce – oh, my. Oh, let’s not discuss politics or charities, dear. Let us bask in our own delights before I cry myself to sleep after eating a mint.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.02.2012 @ 1:34 pm
A glimmer of hope looks a lot like the flicker of a flashlight above your head, not when you’re trapped in a ditch or hanging off a cliff, but when you’ve nestled your head between your legs and rock back and forth against the porch step where the lantern’s burnt out. And all you want to do when you see that glimmer is run to it hoping it’s the red-faced and rugged cowboys come back with your missing daughter and brother at long last.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 01.01.2012 @ 1:27 pm
The cacti grew in the winter snow. The bears were lumbering in the tundra. Dry grass growing red roses in autumn. Leaves falling in the blazing heat.
I filled a mug with cocoa and sat on the porch, watching the rainbow in the sky melt the frost away. My skin had grown tough and very, very dark. My eyes were dusted silver instead of river blue. This was the way life worked now.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.29.2011 @ 12:19 pm
Daniel had packed a dessert for his trip to the desert. He brought along a case of water and a bottle of bourbon. He set up a picnic with no one to eat with. He read a Hemingway book. He fell asleep in the sand.
When he woke up, he had a Rip Van Winkle beard and the desert was now a valley, with clear running streams. And when he drank from it, it tasted like mud and sand and the parched sensation of a dead man.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.28.2011 @ 1:32 pm
For dessert, we ate a chocolate pie, loaded with homemade whipped cream. We drank warm milk that frothed up around our lips and then kissed each other’s milk mustaches. We snuggled. We cuddled. We shrieked and we giggled. We were children again, even when in our forties and fifties.
Howard fell asleep that night and didn’t wake up the next morning. But when I saw him sprawled on the couch, he had the smile of a schoolboy. And despite my tears, I couldn’t help smiling, too.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.27.2011 @ 6:30 pm
When Lily carved her name into the tree, she felt the pulse of the oaken veins against her hand. It was not a pulse of pain, merely of annoyance. She drooped her eyes toward the matted brown grass, tangled and overgrown like patches of decaying hair.
Beside her, a bird perched itself on a shrub, delicately balancing one leg on a bending limb and leaf. Quiet and withdrawn.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.26.2011 @ 12:02 pm
The old man was deaf to madness. He was deaf to sorrow. He was deaf to rage. It was a very selective type of hearing, a type of hearing that one might usually think was more detrimental than helpful. But for the old man, the ability to tune out the hate and despair was something he could use for good. He always smiled. Always laughed. Always kissed his grandchildren beside the dried out Christmas tree, draped in tinsel while remembering the love coloring the ornaments dangling from the frosted boughs.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.25.2011 @ 11:45 am
The dog clamped down on the dead man’s ribcage and wouldn’t let go. Frank could clearly see the brittle ivory begin to crack and splinter. He tried to wrestle the canine for the mess of cartilage and drooping muscle tendons, but it wasn’t happening.
His partner, Cameron, very calmly stepped over and whistled softly. The dog’s ears fell back. It dropped the skeletal wrist.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.24.2011 @ 12:49 pm
Later on, they were indeed conspiring, though they weren’t exactly dreaming by the fire. They were concocting. The two lovers’ romp through the snow had very much matched with the lyrics of the charming Christmas song, but by now they were looking at blueprints. Snow catapults. Towering turrets of a winter snowkeep. Ice elves serving as their warriors.
“Now this,” Billy said to his girlfriend Tina as they curled up by the hearth, “is a real winter wonderland.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.23.2011 @ 12:50 pm
Hurry, hurry, hurry! The festival is about to start! Ryan pulls on his socks and runs out all a flurry, wool cap pulled over his ears. Hurry, hurry, hurry! He grabs a slice of buttered and jam-ed bread to eat. His mother waits for him by the door. Outside, the sky is lit with greens and reds. Ribbons streak the air and across windows. Old men dance in the street and girls toss coins to clowns and acrobats. And everywhere, the sweet, sweet smell of cinnamon.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.22.2011 @ 6:44 pm
The flood of words was like watching a spurt of ink or oil splashing out of the prisoner’s mouth. He was flailing his arms, screeching, eyes bulging outward and threatening to erupt from his eroding sockets. I could see the outline of his jaw in his gaunt face, how it creaked when he talked.
“I’m an innocent man, and I will say that until I die in a ditch!” he screamed as the guards dragged him away from clawing at my new uniform.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.21.2011 @ 6:23 pm
When the dusk had shrugged off its rosy cowl and nestled itself within the blue beard of night, I rode my motorcycle to the corner of Park and Baker and waited by the small general store sitting by the intersection.
It was cold and I drew my coat closer to me, my breath freezing on my visor. My father was meant to meet me here, ragged and gray and just as I expected him to. But it had been six minutes already past nine and he was nowhere to be seen.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.20.2011 @ 6:01 pm
There once was a boy who literally stole people’s thunder. Everyone in town had a jar of thunder, unscrewing the cap just a little each night to let the percussion rumble beneath their feet. It was so they could be spooked and get blood pumping through their veins and feel the cold adrenaline begin to warm up like bubbles on top of a thin broth.
But the boy stole it all, sucking it through a tube into a large glass container, lit up by the night sky as it rained.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.19.2011 @ 6:12 pm
Everyone had some kind of scar. Red or black or brown. On their arms, their legs, their faces. It was a sign of the illness. A sign that they had been infected. Like a large scab that poisoned everything beneath the skin that was meant to protect us.
I was off for a cure. My scar ran from my forehead all the way down the left side of my jaw. I looked like a warrior. I felt like a doomed child.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.18.2011 @ 12:31 pm
Focus the panorama and let the lens dance. This is the view. This is the scope. Three thousand people, young and old, gathered together holding candles. Sticky candles dripping hot wax all over the blue asphalt. If you zoom in, you’ll see how the white stuff shimmers in pools, stretching out like fingers before they descend to the black tar depths below.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.17.2011 @ 6:06 pm
The blemish on the steering wheel shone red in the light of the sirens. The scratches on the sideview mirror were prominent. Matted clumps of hair dangling from a bruised, gashed scalp.
They first thought it had been a simple accident. Involving a phone, no less. But the phone hadn’t been a typical phone. It was a far more superior machine.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.16.2011 @ 5:55 pm
“Nothing up my sleeve…”
“Really, Max? Really?”
Maxine looked rather adorably goofy in her father’s long coat and his big old floppy top hat. The tiny fourteen-year-old was waving a deck of cards in her brother’s face, while I hid my laughter behind my teeth.
“Pick a card, any card,” she said.
“I’ll pick one,” I tried to whisper, but the words couldn’t come out.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.15.2011 @ 10:03 pm
The sultan sat. The bells rang. And all the stage was blazing with the monks’ bodies. Across the globe, a rabbi taught the story of Moses to a group of college students. They all wore greens and blues. One wore purple because another young gay boy had thrown himself off a bridge. And in every corner of the world, it rained a little puddle and the oceans grew a little saltier.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.14.2011 @ 5:47 pm
You made an inedible soup that looked pretty on papery canvasses. You stroked it with hairy fingers and bristles just like your mustache. A mix of color to splash on my face and hands.
You liked to make my skin blue around my hazel eyes. I looked like an elven creature from. You found it very beautiful.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.13.2011 @ 5:43 pm
A princess? A princess?! Really? Out of all the things to find in a tower, it had to be a princess? Not that it’s surprising in any way, shape, or form, but c’mon…can we have a little originality here? I mean, it was bad enough that I had to fight a dragon…a red dragon, mind you. It’s always red. Why not a purple dragon? Would that be too fabulous? Hmmm?
Oh, now she’s looking at me with those doe brown eyes. Better start acting all heroic.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.12.2011 @ 5:42 pm
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The water swirls around the fragments of a ball gown in a square drain. Or a prom dress. Or some strand of sequins from a department store. The man who found it is in a tuxedo. Or maybe royal raiment. Maybe he’s a prince. Or maybe he’s a lost soul.
Beside the scraps of fabric is broken glass. It used to fit a foot. But the ankle’s now broken and the pirouette’s awkward and clumsy and disjointed. The slipper’s no good now.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.11.2011 @ 4:46 pm