Salt in the Wound

Photo by Matheo JBT on Unsplash

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.

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Sub-Merged

Photo by Nariman Mesharrafa on Unsplash

This is a part of my One More Verse series; you can find them all here.


After half a month in the abyss, the dim lights of the wet-dock felt like a womb, a warm haven from the dark. Faint simulated sunlight filtered in through the hardened plastic ceiling, illuminating the room as if it were late afternoon; in reality, the surface was nearly two-hundred metres up and it was nearly sunset, but he relished the feeling despite that. The “sun” warmed his skin and soothed his frazzled mind as he clambered through the bulkhead, feeling like a criminal seeking sanctuary from the harsh underwater world. He glanced behind him to see where his partner Horrick was.

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One Last Journey

Photo by Kasey McCoy on Unsplash

This is yet another prompt from the lovely Space Wrecks bot on Twitter. Its an automated bot that generates a short blurb inspired by Stewart Cowley’s Terran Trade Authority book, “Spacewreck: Ghostships & Derelicts of Space”.


ARCH/UB1.3: The Europan pod skimmed through the splintered crags, anchoring just beyond the Brigador V. The enormous ship was pitted by debris from the planet’s fractured moon. There, they buried the dead, beneath the sweeping banks of clouds.

First Mate Hox’inclin glanced up towards the dreary sky, feeling in their stomachs that this was to be it – the final thing that would set them free.

“Hox.” A voice, like mercury poured over grass, whispered in their ear. “You’ve brought us home.”

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The Pithian Gamble

Photo by John Fowler on Unsplash

The first paragraph of this story was generated by Space Wrecks. Its an automated bot that generates snippets inspired by Stewart Cowley’s Terran Trade Authority book, “Spacewreck: Ghostships & Derelicts of Space”. I adore the aforementioned book and highly recommend it to anyone who loves short stories about derelict ships and what might have happened to them.

The characters in this story use neopronouns, which are sometimes used by transgender, non-binary and gender-nonconforming people.


ARCH/WF6.5: The soldiers bounced over the drone-dotted scrub, stopping within the confines of the Pithia. The colossal wreck was festooned with alien automata. There, they waited for sundown, beneath the ancient binary stars.

“Doesn’t feel safe, Matriarch…” Ol chittered through the comms. “I can sense their gaze even through the ship.”

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