“I’m still on the boat.” by Julia on her couch


Friday August 4, 2017
10:57pm
5 minutes
Sea Sick
Alanna Mitchell

I’m trying to read to pass the time. Everybody is taking Gravol. My sister gets carsick on tiny windy roads and gets to sit in the front seat of the good car. I have to sit in the back seat behind the same t-shirt going on twelve days in a row. I don’t know how no one notices the oppressive stench but I can’t seem to pretend otherwise. My sister is not looking forward to the boat ride to go see the blown glass in Venicd. There really isn’t a front seat on a boat. My mother is the same way. Neither of them do well when the waves get choppy or even if there’s a bit of wind.
My uncle has taken us on this exact tour for the third time now and still explains everything like it were the first. I don’t know how no one notices.

“I’m still on the boat.” By Sasha at her desk


Friday August 4, 2017
12:00pm
5 minutes
Sea Sick
Alanna Mitchell


When I go to sleep, I’m still on the boat. There’s a gentle rocking and it’s pure comfort. Nothing like it was in reality – nausea and puking. I wake up and walk to the toilet, and it’s like I’m finding my land legs again. It almost makes me nauseous. I can’t eat much for breakfast, even though Steve is on this diet where he eats a whole whack of protein right when he wakes up. Who wants to cook a steak at six thirty in the morning? I had to tell him to stop with the salmon.

“I really do not know” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday March 7, 2013
11:05am
5 minutes
The Marvelous Land of Oz
L.Frank Baum


Silas didn’t know the answer to the question as to how Jack drowned. What he did know was this. They’d gone out fishing just after sunrise, somewhere around six fifteen. Jack brought live bait and Silas brought lures. Every man has their own style, no judgement there. Silas paddled the boat out, as to not disturb the sleeping trout, and Jack got impatient. “It’s gonna take us til tomorrow morning to get out to the middle of the lake!” He hissed. Silas “shh-ed” Jack and kept paddling. They didn’t talk much, they never talked much. Must’ve been half passed eight when Jack got his first bite, the first bite of the day, actually. It was a big one, his line bending and his arms getting pulled. Silas backed him up. Out they pulled a twenty-six pounder, the biggest fish either men had ever caught. She was slip-slapping all over the bottom of the boat, the hook still caught in her mouth, blood starting to stain the wood finish. “Take out that hook,” said Silas. “Let’s let her suffer a bit, eh?” Jack replied, rolling a cigarette. “Why the hell would you do that?” asked Silas. He watched the fish struggle, watched her gills dance and glitter in the new day sunlight. Jack closed his eyes and leaned back, not a care in the world. Silas took a hammer from his toolkit. He hit the fish between the eyes. She stopped squirming.