As the bilge stilled, rancid water backing up into the hull, Stabby Scoop smiled. She'd staved across the galley unnoticed, sneaking deep into the ship's belly to despatch the bilge workers, hoping to sink her older sister's ship.
"Did ye hear the cannons last night?" she'd ask passersby, attempting small talk as a suspicion averting tactic.
Lower and lower still, the ship descended to the watery depths. Imperceptible to the naked eye, but more pressing as each moment ticked by.
Stabby Scoop looked on, her vessel a safe distance away, laughing at her sister's end, finally becoming the favourite child.
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alt="Your Life Is in My Hands by Anne Wilkins"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Timeliness by Stephen Sottong"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Torso for Tomorrow by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Rip in Time by Andrew Kurtz"
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>