Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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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
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
Stanley beckoned little Kimberly over with a gnarly finger, like a tree branch twitching in the winter wind. She waddled slowly toward him, her hands and lips sticky from her mint chip ice cream cone. As the elderly man scooped her up in his arms, his eyes melted against hers in pools of emerald and indigo.
“She’s so precious,” he said, smiling faintly as he looked at his son, her father, grinning from ear to ear.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.10.2011 @ 11:18 am
Sneaky feet on creaky stairs. I heard them. They were small but stealthy. They made a light pitter-patter like snow dropping in perfect lumps.
I smiled and set down the plate of cookies. One was half-eaten. Another I held out to the young girl who stared wide-eyed at the bottom of the stairwell. Her eyes were very blue. Like jewels. Brighter than my own beard.
“Can’t wait for Christmas?” I asked her with a twinkle in my eye.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.08.2011 @ 5:55 pm
The girl with a platinum voice had a sadly limited vocabulary. True, when stacks of sheet music riddled with the whims and worries and woes and wraths of its writers, she could sing it all. She could tell stories, ballads, epics, or she could sing lullabies, prayers, hymns.
But when she was offstage, something changed. It was all, “Yes, sir,” or “Yes, ma’am,” or “Thank you.” And as she smiled and waved at her fans, her father stood with that same limited look peeling off his face.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.07.2011 @ 6:06 pm
“The return of the Je – wait, no, that’ used before.”
“I didn’t know if you were gonna say Jedi or Jesus.”
“…Return of the Jesus?”
“Yeah. As opposed to Jesús down the street.”
“I heard that!” Jesús barked from his upstairs window. We kept kicking at fallen leaves and laughed quite a bit about the coming of the Jesus man.
Because the Jesus man saves kittens.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.06.2011 @ 5:48 pm
An old Irishman deserved a slap in the face, so a slap he received at the Brazen Head one February evening. From his daughter, no less. She had been kissing her boyfriend after he had played a sweet ballad for her on his banjo. The drunkard father, bless his sore heart, had broken the banjo strings in response, cussing out the poor lad until his face went as red as his hair. The slap sent the Irishman keeling over his bar stool, where he landed right into a lonely lady’s lap. And thus the love story began.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.05.2011 @ 5:52 pm
The necktie in the bosom. A picture frame on a mantle. Crystal within a brooch. The thing your eye is drawn to. The thing that holds your gaze. The nose should be the centerpiece of the face, but instead it’s the gaze. Defiant angles and shapes. Geometrical rebellion. The lips pursed and try to upstage. They are successful.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.04.2011 @ 11:40 am
Obey your stomach, o’ hungry child. The candy speaks to you. Cadbury creamery and Ghiradelli goodness. You seek the bag with treats and salivate in glee. Obey your stomach, o’hungry child. Because even if you consume too much sugar and fat, there is always a pack of insulin and a liposuction appointment awaiting you.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.03.2011 @ 11:22 am
Stable boy cleans the stable. Rich wife of a baron who hailed from a stuffy family in London trots over on her black horse. She has been hunting foxes. Stable boy mops his brow from the flies. He smells like shit and sweat and sweaty shit and shitty sweat. But the wife can’t get enough of him. She wants to tear off that bodice of hers and tackle him into the dung. How typical.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.02.2011 @ 9:41 pm
I slouch. I slurp. I slip up. Again. I thought I was better than this. 3 o’clock on the computer. Three minutes fast. I screwed up again. Hammer to the head. They glare at me. What did I do wrong? I’m trying. I really am. I’m isolated. I’m failing. No papers are coming in. I’m writing in my journal. No. Not allowed. All my fault I’m not doing well. All my fault. All my fault. All my fault.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 12.01.2011 @ 6:09 pm
Anywhere is a word that tends to bother certain people because saying you could go anywhere you wanted isn’t exactly accurate, being that we are stuck on this tiny pearl of a planet and go not fly out to Mars for fear of our heads bursting like candy-filled balloons, spraying confetti all across the solar system – or travel back in time, for that matter, to Victorian England, where you’d be more likely to get the black lung than have a lovely dance with the aristocracy, but at least your lungs wouldn’t compress into ribbons upon your intrepid voyage to Jupiter…without a helmet.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.30.2011 @ 5:35 pm
The skyline sat behind our heads and the clouds clustered around the tailcoats of the sun as we sat on the beach. It was very Bergman-esque, sitting here and playing chess in the sand. My opponent had even worn the cloak as an homage.
We held our breath. Waves licked the shores. I moved my knight.
“Oh, you bitch,” Ely snapped in his lisp-aided lilt.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.29.2011 @ 6:04 pm
The lights dimmed, the pancakes eaten, we settled down for an early morning movie. We had stayed up for hours, cuddling, too alert to sleep, too stubborn to dream. The dream was here, and now, with one o’clock breakfast and a horrid 1950s sci-fi film. I buried my head in her shoulder. I breathed happiness.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.28.2011 @ 5:58 pm
In a marble archway, I shared a kiss with an older man, whose stubble was as white as the blizzard swallowing us up. He had smoked a pipe earlier and tasted like cheap tobacco, and he held me close to his chest that heaved with a tuberculosis rhythm. I didn’t want him to let me go, not even when my hands turned to ice and I couldn’t taste anything in my mouth anymore.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.27.2011 @ 1:15 pm
One morning at the museum, a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton decided to wreak havoc upon a small tangle of delinquent school children who had decided to throw rocks at the displays. How they were able to smuggle so many rocks into the museum without security being none the wiser was unclear to curator Benjamin Reynards, who grinned a toothless grin as the preteens shrieked like girls at the dinosaur bones lumbered toward them. He’d have to give his pet a treat in reward.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.26.2011 @ 5:58 pm
“The next president of the United States…Milo the cat!”
I rolled my eyes as my brother carried our large orange tabby into the room, humming a very awkward theme song. I threw some popcorn at him in response.
“What are you watching?” he asked.
“V for Vendetta on demand.”
He snorted. “You a communist?”
“No, I’m an anti-fascist. There’s a difference.”
He sat down beside and Milo squirmed to get away. In the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cooking in the kitchen.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.25.2011 @ 11:43 am
Mick Jagger’s “Wild Horses” was playing in a small diner where Roger sat, drinking a coffee. The autumn leaves were damp and clogged with rain and dirt, and a tinny jukebox was already playing Christmas songs in the corner. As he stirred sugar into his mug, he watched as the young Irish waiter, Ferris, set down a plate of sliced turkey in front of him.
“On the house,” he said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Roger smiled. At least he had something to be thankful for now.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.24.2011 @ 12:23 pm
She walked out with eyelashes bristling fire, her lips molten lava melting into her tongue as she licked the ripe skin. Bosom bulging outward to complete the volcano. And probably most of the boys in the room were about to erupt.
Instead, I clapped. Then I took her hand and escorted her to the small corner table reserved for us, where we’d watch the show.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.23.2011 @ 6:57 pm
Study time was replaced with chips and drinking that night, while Stacy and I used our textbooks for propping up our glasses. The TV was blaring a re-run of Frasier, and I liked how we both laughed at the witticisms. My twin brother Terry had fallen asleep on the sofa with the empty bowl used for popcorn rocking on his stomach.
“I had a good time tonight,” Stacy said when she was about to leave.
“Yeah, you can thank Napoleon for that.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.22.2011 @ 6:29 pm
Back To Stats Page
I realized, with a light laugh, that a client at my law firm was named Robert Browning. I addressed it to him over a light lunch at the nearest café.
“Like the poet.”
He frowned at me over his latte “Come again?”
“Robert Browning. The poet. I haven’t read much.”
He smiled and recited a whole verse of Browning perfectly. I had a beautiful, literary nerd moment and washed it down with a cup of black coffee.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.21.2011 @ 7:42 pm