In Pursuit Of Tomorrow

A young boy shaped sand sculptures. His parents combed the beach with a metal detector. When clouds rolled in, mother rose, balancing on the only leg spared in a shark attack.

Over driftwood, shells and rocks they trampled to reach the trail that would lead them to a road.

Father turned for one last glance of the abandoned tanker anchored by the coast. He had heard of buried treasures from at least a dozen ships in those turbulent waters.

As he imagined newly acquired wealth for his family, the sea tossed out a bottle. Nestled inside was a folded note.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction. She resides in Alberta, Canada.

Parasitic Sea

A stillness descends on the empty beach. The children are asleep in cottages. How many of you stepped on shells and hurt yourselves? How many of you were stung by jellyfish?

A small light shines far away over the dark sea. It rushes faster than the waves, dashes across the beach, and dives deep into the scratched feet of the dreaming children. And it divides, multiplies, and devours.

The next morning, the children wake and run toward the sea. They leap into the waves and swim away.

It’s time to go home. Are your parents going to miss you, kids?

From Guest Contributor Natsumi Tanaka

Translated from Japanese by Toshiya Kamei

Natsumi Tanaka is a writer living in Kyoto, Japan. Her short stories have appeared in journals such as Anima Solaris, Kotori no kyuden, and Tanpen. She is the author of the short story collection Yumemiru ningyo no okoku (2017). Translations of her short fiction have appeared in Fanzine, Star 82 Review, and The William & Mary Review, among others.

Conquest Sapiens

Winter today felt like death. Sor glared at the obvious trail leading to his concealment.

The scentless pale race had carried out a callous pogrom against his kind. He was the last. They’d extracted the cave tribe like so many snails from their shells.

The speed and nature of the slaughter had appalled. Herded into a clear space, Gargar and her people had seemed to shrink, then vanish in light when the captors had waved short sticks in their direction.

Better to die fighting.

Sor tensed. Someone– His crouching body disintegrated.

"The planet’s sterilized," the marine announced over her com.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Retreating River

Peering through the tinted windows, she saw the river’s glittering trickle and the constellation of shiny debris scattered over the vast expanse of sand. Plate-sized, they glinted in promise. Starfish? Shells? Ornaments discarded as the river retreated to curl down in a corner?

Sliding back the glass, she blinked. Stark sunlight shone down on a thousand shell-bright paper plates, discarded as family picnics retreated to idle their way home, say their twilight prayers, curl down in a corner, and let the television flash blindly off their faces.

The train blew past the retreating river with barely a sigh, as always. From Guest Contributor Aparna Nandakumar

Aparna lives in Calicut, India, and writes poems and short stories. Her work has previously been published at Atticus Review and A Story in 100 Words, and is forthcoming at Cafe Dissensus and Red River Review.