Sailing To America

There was something about the endless sky, gray and somber, and the ship’s surging through the dark swirling waters of the Atlantic, that prompted Macbeth to worry about the past. The witches. The blood. The trouble that followed. Was there a route to forgiveness? People went down on their knees, didn’t they? Could he hire someone to do it for him? He was still royalty, wasn’t he? But the breeze was so soothing, the trouble, so remote. Surely Scotland was a memory best forgotten. Besides, in the distance, he could almost see, shining like a pardon, the Statue of Liberty.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe's stories and poems have appeared in Gone Lawn, Tiny Molecules, Eunoia Review, Misfit Magazine, Six Sentences, and others.

Fantasy Realm

From a young age, Donald preferred the life of his imagination to the doldrums of the real world. He concocted fantasies that transcended the bounds of his normal life, dreams that promised the fulfillment of wishes he barely dared to comprehend.

In his fantasy world, Donald was no longer trapped in the circumstances of his birth. He had the freedom to literally fly to distant lands and make choices for himself instead of being dictated to.

It was always with bitter regret that Donald abandoned those visions and was forced to return to his life as the King of Scotland.