Bar by Belinda Roddie The man asked for a water with two lemons at the bar, which seemed to refresh him enough. Meanwhile, I drank neat whiskey in the corner, my face mask pulled down near my neck, thanking the stars that I was vaccinated. It had been over a year since I frequented Peter Pumpkineater on Fifth Street, and by God, was I going to enjoy the finest Scotch that this town had to offer. 

Regulated by Belinda Roddie My love is not regulated like any other commodity. It may cause some issues if you don’t handle it properly. Sometimes, it’s volatile, and other times, docile. It can only be comforted so much before it swells up like the tide again, ready to fight the moon. But the moon has its bow and arrow ready, and it shoots starlight straight through my chest. I am powerless to stop the chemical reaction.

Mask by Belinda Roddie I wore a mask to protect people. I wore a mask to protect myself. I wore a mask to every public space when anyone was close to me. I wore a mask because I was kind. I wore a mask because I was considerate. I wore a mask because I wasn't an assholish toddler stamping their feet and claiming, "Freedom!" without considering the consequences of their actions. I wore a mask because it symbolized actual charity and compassion, which the "Christians" apparently couldn't actually figure out. So, yeah. Suck it, plague denier.

Prism by Belinda Roddie I was a human prism, casting rainbows all over the windows and walls. I was ready to burst in a neon supernova when she found me - drunk and drenched with sweat on the dance floor of the Purple Pony Tavern, her hair pulled back beneath her black and red snapback. When we moved hip to hip and chest to chest, the perspiration somehow smelled sweeter between us.

Baby by Belinda Roddie I'm raising up a pretty baby boy who will look good in pink or blue or purple. And he can wear tiaras if he wishes. And he can play baseball if he wishes. And he will appreciate himself while also remembering that the people around him are bereft of it. We'll chat about the world over macaroni and cheese, and I'll remind him, "Son, if you want to be a man, go for it. Just remember you are allowed to talk, cry, feel, and love."

Nutrients by Belinda Roddie Trisha told me not to buy the salad because, according to her, it had even less nutrients than the sandwich did. It made sense: the sandwich had greens and peppers and onions, and the salad was mostly romaine with some croutons, walnuts, and dressing on it. So I took her advice, and we both sat down to eat in the quietest part of the park. "How's the sandwich?" asked Trisha. "Nutritious," I teased in reply.

Cone by Belinda Roddie Dahlia got an ice cream cone, Richard got an ice cream sandwich, and Wanda got a frozen yogurt. Howie didn't get anything because he's lactose intolerant, but he didn't mind. He just liked hanging out with his friends, and he was sure to warn Dahlia when her treat got a little too precariously close to tumbling from its crunchy waffle vessel.

Modular by Belinda Roddie The Watson family lived in a modular home, but it was nice enough. Mr. Watson had a room entirely devoted to his paintings of paintings, and Mrs. Watson stitched lots of lovely little things to give to friends. Their son, unfortunately, was involved in a Bitcoin MLM and was hemorrhaging money.

Irregular by Belinda Roddie Man, it's tough to follow OneWord when its updates are so irregular. But hey, I'm glad it's back. I do like these timed writing spells. It's something I've enjoyed since 2011, in fact. Christ, 2011. That was ten years ago. I'm old. I'm so old. I may be thirty-one, but I'm still old. Time, stop fucking me. You didn't even take me out to dinner first. Please order me the lobster tail before you rail me again.

Earn by Belinda Roddie Everyone told me that I had to earn their respect, so I fought for it. I fought, and I labored, and I clawed for it. I sweat, and I bled, and I cried for it. I humored them as much as I could while squandering away the last scraps of both my youth and my soul. And what did I get back? Premature gray hair and the same ol' bullshit. So, no. Now you gotta earn my respect.

Difference by Belinda Roddie "I thought you had forgiven me!" "Forgiven you, yes," replied Becky. "Forgotten, no. There is, in fact, a difference." Grace had nothing in response to that, so all she did was stare at Becky until the latter walked away. Meanwhile, the fireflies had started to appear. Their lit bodies appeared...ominous, almost. Like tiny skeletons set on fire in an endless void of night.