With surprising elegance, it slid down the ladder, escaping the suffocating dryness of the command deck. Eight arms deftly unlatched the airlock. Bubbles rose. HSSSS. The grate cracked open. A body slunk into the blue ink depths of the ocean, leaving the spaceship’s control room empty. Just for an hour.

Zoë Davis is a writer from Sheffield, England. She’s a stubborn FND sufferer and fights what her body says she can’t do by playing wheelchair rugby league. She writes poetry and prose, and especially enjoys exploring the interaction between the fantastical and the mundane, with a deeply personal edge to her work. You can find her words in publications such as: Ink Sweat & Tears, Strix, Roi Fainéant and Red Ogre Review. You can also follow her on X @MeanerHarker where she’s always happy to have a virtual coffee and a chat.