As he lay in his bunk, even the gentle swells of the sea could not calm his anxiety. He had worked so hard to get here. He had learned map reading, sailed along the coast of Africa, and Ireland. It had taken years to secure funding for this voyage. He would not allow himself to fail now.

Suddenly Columbus heard shouting and running above deck. His heart skipped a beat: “Land Ahoy!”

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

NATURE SUBMISSION:

I watched as the minute breaking waves climbed the gentle slope of the beach, trying to get as far as possible. As the surf receded, complicated patterns formed in the tawny sand. The pendular movement repeated itself, together with the characteristic sound of the advancing and retreating water. But the smell of the shore at low tide, the taste of the salty spray, the feel of the breeze and the warmth of the early sun were missing. I tossed my mobile phone away and sighed – no video will ever replace the soothing experience of a simple walk by the sea.

From Guest Contributor Miguel Prazeres

Mary attached her life vest to her body, squeezed through the screaming crowd and made her way to the lifeboats. The cold air chilled her body and numbed her feet; she could barely walk. Frozen in fear, she waited. After being placed in the lifeboat, panicked passengers tried to jump in as the deck hand began lowering them down. He took out his gun and started firing at no one in particular and shot a poor elderly man.

Titanic began to sink, and the lifeboat collapsed into the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I stir the White Russian, the clink of ice so soft, tender. I should be grading papers and concentrating on how to explain Rasputin and Nicholas II to my students. I just want to abide in White Russians and ice, a creamy sea.

I’m losing.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. His story, “Soon,” was nominated for a Pushcart. Yash’s stories are forthcoming or have been published in Café Lit, Mad Swirl, 50 Word Stories, and Ariel Chart, among others.

We all got off the coach and headed for the beach. The couple who’d sat across from us stripped to reveal their swimsuits, like a superhero duo. I told Dad on the sand, but he seemed distracted, staring into the horizon.

The water was warm, like a bath. That was our second clue. ‘Don’t worry,’ the news anchor had said at breakfast. ‘Hurricane Katrina isn’t expected to cause much damage.’

From Guest Contributor Robert Keal

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?

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

From Guest Contributor Natsumi Tanaka

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.

The seas clash between her and the shore. Yer crew lined up on the edge of the beach. Her sails are riddled with holes from cannon fire. Her hull crushed and impaled by other vessels that have crashed beside her. Quite a miracle she can float even now. As yer crew take their final glances, ye walk until the water reaches yer knees as ye recall her the most. Through storms, valleys, and currents. With a staff of flame on yer right hand, ye set her ablaze in a last gaze of glory. She rests in the sea’s foamy waters.

From Guest Contributor Nahum Zewdie

Nahum is a student of general studies in Pikes Peak Community College.

You talk to family photos, suffer from migraines, play Chopin with unshowy facility on the parlor piano. Strangers often comment on your eyes – gull’s eyes, someone called them. The sea heaves just outside your door, and from the back window, you can see the cemetery where your father is buried. Weeds have sprouted up overnight among the headstones. You aren’t interested in stories of success, only failure. “Sunshine,” you say, “is an overrated virtue.” The words echo. There’s a feeling that something terrible is about to happen. You watch for a while and then shrug. Maybe because it’s all disappearing.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press and Spooky Action at a Distance from Analog Submission Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

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

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Brandon surveyed the sea of grass standing before him. The wind, which shook the trees and rained leaves down from above, was swallowed up in the green swathe so that the air at ground level was nearly silent.

He took only a few steps before he drowned in the vegetation.