Shrimp
‍By Robert Hudson

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The shrimp leave when we touch the sun. Our pale hands curl from the heat, but that does not stop our reaching. The submarine drags us into the deep before we are ready. Down here, we tell the time by watching red and pink skin wither and return to paleness. The ship grows a beard like we do. The growth thrashes as we push forward, attracting the shrimp once more. We can hear them tip-tap along the hull, consuming. They can't reach us, so we feed our hungry lungs with artificial air. It tastes like the skin flakes we lost. We lie in our beds to travel faster. We hold out our hands to block the impending flashlight. We tell time by how loud the shrimp are as they feast on the diminishing green. Our bones shudder as the cold slithers through the metal. We try to warm by filling our stomachs, but the stale meals are chilling. We feel the ship point itself upwards. The hatch opens, and for a moment, we tell time by the sun as we reach.


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Robert Hudson is a US Navy Submarine Veteran pursuing a BA in Creative Writing, with a deep passion for speculative fiction. He lives in Strongsville, Ohio, but grew up in Irving, TX, and writes a mixture of fantasy, sci-fi, horror, and poetry. He is currently drafting his first novel and was previously published in Baldwin Wallace’s literary journal The Mill 2026 edition and is scheduled to appear in Sigma Tau Delta's The Rectangle 2027 edition. Outside of writing, he is a husband and dad who paints, gardens, and plays Dungeons and Dragons.