Mud Flats

She watched the never-ending rotting seaweed wash up onto the mud flats. No one really came down to this area because of the smell, but the stench would cover the odor of a decomposing body for days. She had to return to the scene of the crime, she couldn’t help it. She had to see for the sake of her daughters.

One finger was sticking out of the muddy flats next to shore. It was harder getting the body to the flats than killing him. Her hurt was over, and he would never lay a hand on another woman again.

From Guest Contributor N.T. Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

Ophelia Takes A Bath

Ophelia under the water; kneecap mountains poking out dwarf the dipping hills of her breasts. The ragged, brown seaweed strands of her hair move gently as her hot kettle sighs ring around the steam-shrouded bathroom.

She finds brash or delicate things expose her madness—the rough lyrics of a Pogues’ song or the fragrance of a flower bomb. Silver chains on her thighs, bright relics of dejection, shackle her to the past but aren't enough to save her. So she piles his words as pebbles on her heart and in this way she doesn't float away—at least not today.

From Guest Contributor Adele Evershed

A Beginner’s Guide To Dystopia

From the street outside, a loudspeaker boomed, “According to the decree of the 17th of this month on the Abolition of Walls.” I got up from the table where I was reading and went over to the window. Banners with the slogan “Public Interest Comes Before Self-Interest” fluttered in endless repetition down the street. Practically right under my window, officers were clubbing a man who lay crumpled on the pavement. I sighed, then went and sat back down and found my place in the book – sea nymphs with red seaweed hair were sunning themselves on the ledges of seaside cliffs.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

I Dreamt The Ocean Was A Woman

I dreamt that the ocean was a woman and she swallowed me. One second I was laying in my bed, and the next I was sliding down her throat. As I tumbled down, I felt seaweed and kelp cocoon around my body, wrapping tighter and tighter as I dropped further and further down her gullet. Her stomach was bedded with coral that deeply cut my arms and legs. All I could do was lay there, bloody, defenseless, and petrified.

Suddenly, I awoke from the dream, jumped out of bed, and walked towards the ocean to feel it all over again.

From Guest Contributor Melissa Maney

The Sea

The gentle ripple of the waves soothes me, as I listen to the seagulls flying above searching for prey. A mother is helping her young son build a sandcastle while keeping an eye out for her daughter. “Don’t go too far out,” she bellows.

The ocean splashes against my legs and seaweed gets caught in-between my toes. I chortle and kick my feet, releasing it back into the water. I love the sea, its openness and the people who come to get away from everyday life.

The ocean is a world of its own, and the world is the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Irish Eyes

Marie stared in the mirror, her azure eyes gazed lovingly at slender curves. She shook her head wafting strands of dark hair about her waist. A grey tracksuit clung to her physique mounted above designer trainers.

She waltzed out of the house, across the field in view of the adoring workmen, and down to the muddy cliffs onto the sandy beach. Her feet clomped to the rocks, where she climbed the coral.

At the summit she perceived a clear pond. Therein, beyond the sea creatures' majesty and waves of seaweed, perfection shone back. Fixated, even when the tide came in.

From Guest Contributor Valkyrie Kerry Kelly