Tag Archive for: pirates

Price of Admission

by Michelle Brett


“Shall you give your hand or your eye?”

There was no reply. The stowaway was too fixated on the knife at his throat. His limbs pinned to the deck by the unwashed bodies.

The pirate continued, “You do want to be one of us, don’t you?”

With widened eyes, the stowaway tried to squirm, only to force the blade deeper into his flesh. He begged, “No…”

A snort. The smell of whiskey. The pirate turned to the crowd.

“The eye it shall be.”

Cheers erupted, drowning out the stowaway’s screams. From deep inside the ship, a red hot poker emerged.


Michelle Brett

Michelle Brett is a New Zealand-based writer and designer. She has a Diploma in Applied Writing and is working towards a Bachelor in Communication. In her free time, she likes to question the choices of horror movie characters and report on historic crimes for a local paper.

Website: www.michellebrettbooks.com


by Tracy Davidson


Redbeard chose the wrong island to plunder, his ship the first to find it in decades. No sealife swam near, no bird flew over. No human walked its streets.

Redbeard’s first mate was first to die, skin shredded by invisible talons. The second was turned inside out, intestines wrapping around a third’s neck, squeezing until it snapped.

Another disintegrated into atoms.

Redbeard’s men scattered in panic, swords raised. But blades were useless against invisible enemies.

They all fell. Until only Redbeard remained.

Unlike his men, Redbeard saw his fate. Rabid dogs feasted on his flesh.

The island vanished once more.


Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

Execution Dock

by Simon Clarke


Three tides washed over me before you covered me in tar.
But still I see you sail by, laughing at me in my cage above the Thames.
You see my empty eye sockets, the strips of putrefying flesh, the wind jerking my bones when there is no wind.
A final resting place?
No, I’m still here, dreaming of Port-au-Prince, my woman, and my gold.
I see you sail by, and I am laughing. Voodoo promised I would live forever, and so I am.
I drip contagion into the water you all drink—my pestilence will be in your city forever.

Simon Clarke

Simon Clarke lives and writes in Norfolk, United Kingdom. He enjoys writing poetry and fiction and has been published by Hedgehog Press, Black Hare Press, Fifty Word Stories, and Breaking Rules Publishing. He regularly submits to UK and international publications and enjoys reading poetry at open mic events.