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 * Voice of the Deep
 * At Sea
 * Mid Shift
 * Jellypuses

Voice of the Deep

Red bleeds into my blue where humans on ships quarrel over a land that is not
theirs, unbeknownst to the sea of jellyfish floating gracefully above the chaos
they’ve created. “Looks like I’m not your only thief,” a seagull whispers as he
steals from me. “It’s too dark,” the jellyfish say when I ask why they’ve left.
Because even they would rather watch the death from above than stay blanketed in
it—where those who kill and wreak catastrophe long to be within my waves. How
can I blame them? I’d do the same, but I can’t. I’m trapped—excruciatingly
forced to be in the midst of an invader’s war whilst they are in the midst of
me. I drench and drown those who do not belong after they’ve drenched and
drowned each other; I bury them myself, because unlike them, I am a body of
grace as well as water. The ones who survive go after the land and trees—my
family—infecting them with venomous hands, and despite how brutally I crash into
them, I cannot save my brothers or sisters. And when they die—when I have no
choice to keep their killers afloat—it drains me.

Written in Novlr

by Eileen Lauro

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole,
filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole
with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole, and that
means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green,
with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a
tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with
panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs,
and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors.
The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of
the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it ­ and many
little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No
going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of
these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens,
dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The
best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for these were the only
ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and
his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill
for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only
because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures
or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any
question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had
an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He
may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether
he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not
a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor
yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was
a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a
porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The
door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel
without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with
polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was
fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite
straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles
round called it ­ and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one
side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms,
cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to
clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the
same passage. The best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for
these were the only ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over
his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very
well­to­do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the
neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very
respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they
never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a
Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a
story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things
altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he
gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the
ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends
of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it
to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a
perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass
knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a
tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors
tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for
hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on,
going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all
the people for many miles round called it ­ and many little round doors opened
out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the
hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he
had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the
same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the
left­hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows,
deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down
to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and his name was
Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out
of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything
unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the
bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found
himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the
neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything
in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet
hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare,
sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole,
and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted
green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to
a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with
panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs,
and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors.
The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of
the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it ­ and many
little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No
going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of
these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens,
dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The
best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for these were the only
ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and
his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill
for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only
because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures
or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any
question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had
an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He
may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether
he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not
a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor
yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was
a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a
porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The
door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel
without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with
polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was
fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite
straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles
round called it ­ and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one
side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms,
cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to
clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the
same passage. The best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for
these were the only ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over
his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very
well­to­do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the
neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very
respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they
never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a
Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a
story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things
altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he
gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the
ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends
of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it
to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a
perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass
knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a
tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors
tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for
hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on,
going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all
the people for many miles round called it ­ and many little round doors opened
out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the
hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he
had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the
same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the
left­hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows,
deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down
to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and his name was
Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out
of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything
unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the
bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found
himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the
neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything
in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet
hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare,
sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole,
and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted
green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to
a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with
panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs,
and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors.
The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of
the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it ­ and many
little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No
going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of
these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens,
dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The
best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for these were the only
ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and
his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill
for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only
because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures
or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any
question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had
an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He
may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether
he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not
a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor
yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was
a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a
porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The
door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel
without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with
polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was
fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite
straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles
round called it ­ and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one
side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms,
cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to
clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the
same passage. The best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for
these were the only ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over
his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very
well­to­do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the
neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very
respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they
never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a
Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a
story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found himself doing and saying things
altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he
gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.In a hole in the
ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends
of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it
to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole, and that means comfort. It had a
perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass
knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube­shaped hall like a
tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors
tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for
hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on,
going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill ­ The Hill, as all
the people for many miles round called it ­ and many little round doors opened
out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the
hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he
had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens, dining­rooms, all were on the
same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the
left­hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows,
deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down
to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and his name was
Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out
of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of
them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything
unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the
bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, found
himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the
neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether he gained anything
in the end.In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet
hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare,
sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit­hole,
and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted
green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to
a tube­shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with
panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs,
and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats ­ the hobbit was fond of visitors.
The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of
the hill ­ The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it ­ and many
little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No
going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of
these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens,
dining­rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The
best rooms were all on the left­hand side (going in), for these were the only
ones to have windows, deep­set round windows looking over his garden and meadows
beyond, sloping down to the river. This hobbit was a very well­to­do hobbit, and
his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill
for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only
because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures
or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any
question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had
an adventure, found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He
may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained­well, you will see whether
he gained anything in the end.

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