Amongst my gold, I sit in the hold of my ship. The rats scurry between my feet. Squeaking, feasting.
I hear the cries of the searchers. Anxiety within me. I emerge from the darkness and see the lantern on the horizon beyond the broken spire of my mast. The voices carry over the waters. I know they aren’t here for me.
Amongst my gold, I carve the flesh from an unnamed seaman. The rats protest as I scavenge from their meal.
Alone I sit. Alone I will eat. Alone I will stay because no one will ever get my gold.
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alt="Where the Grass Feeds by Kimberly Rei"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>