From Issue 10: 1915

1915 Sean Sam The searchlight scans along the wakes and the water. The enemy and the sea both wait and welter in the dark. Along the waves, it drops and dips in the spray, it sways —something writhes with a splash. Awake and in time with ideas of death sliding underneath and inside, the gunners bend at the bow. Slapped on the sea, the shape of a hull blinks on the surface.  A splash of fire spoils the year. Sinking then showing again, the shape dies as the light meets a new color in the current. Later, seagulls circle around…

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