This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here. The protagonist Calfin uses the neopronouns ze/zim/zir.
The old ship groaned in the whipping wind, always threatening to tip over but never following through.
Yet, thought Calfin, Always yet.
Ze took a look through one of the portholes, scratched on one side and covered with candle soot and ages-old grime on the other. The dried lake looked much the same as it had the past day, last month and the summer before: tediously barren, with a hint of unguided malice to anything that found itself stranded there. No trace of the trio yet.
I want to curl up so hard my limbs stick together Like dough, like clay Squeeze me together until the seams disappear Lose my shape in your palms Knead me smooth Turn me over, and over and over I’m raw potential now Waiting for a chance to be something new
This is a part of my One More Verse series; you can find them all here.
Floating. Always floating; bobbing along the interstellar currents, cold winds from nearby stars buffeting them, breezing over their skin like a hot wash of fire, a blast furnace’s bellowing voice in the infinite dark. It was deep and rumbling, playing the same three low notes over, and over and-
The low beeping dug through Hara’s cryostasis like a needle, a strange mechanical noise in that murky fluid void-dream. It made them think about gutting the console again, but they knew they’d have to fix it afterwards. They managed a raspy mutter, palming the comms panel clumsily as they sat up against the pod, trying to breathe fire through aching lungs.