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    Metaphorosis June 2017
    Metaphorosis June 2017
    Metaphorosis June 2017
    Ebook136 pages1 hour

    Metaphorosis June 2017

    By Kaos Nest, Michelle Ann King, Christopher Cervelloni and

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    About this ebook

    Beautifully written speculative fiction from Metaphorosis magazine.
    All the stories from the month, plus author biographies, interviews, and story origins.

    Table of Contents
    • Light Winds With a Chance of Velociraptors – Michelle Ann King
    • Trucks in Reverse – Christopher Cervelloni
    • The Illuminator Leaves – Molly Etta
    • One Divided by Eternity – Filip Wiltgren
    • The Abjection Engine – Y. X. Acs
    Cover art by Kaos Nest.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMetaphorosis Publishing
    Release dateJun 16, 2018
    ISBN9781640760851
    Metaphorosis June 2017

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      Book preview

      Metaphorosis June 2017 - Kaos Nest

      Metaphorosis

      June 2017

      edited by

      B. Morris Allen

      ISSN: 2573-136X (online)

      ISBN: 978-1-64076-085-1 (e-book)

      Metaphorosis

      Neskowin

      Table of Contents

      Metaphorosis

      June

      Light Winds With a Chance of Velociraptors

      Michelle Ann King

      Trucks in Reverse

      Christopher Cervelloni

      The Illuminator Leaves

      Molly Etta

      One Divided by Eternity

      Filip Wiltgren

      The Abjection Engine: Fragments From the Diary of Alexi Alanovonovich

      Y. X. Acs

      Metaphorosis Publishing

      Copyright

      June 2017

      Light Winds With a Chance of Velociraptors — Michelle Ann King

      Trucks in Reverse — Christopher Cervelloni

      The Illuminator Leaves — Molly Etta

      One Divided by Eternity — Filip Wiltgren

      The Abjection Engine — Y. X. Acs

      Light Winds With a Chance of Velociraptors

      Michelle Ann King

      That’s the worst thing about the end of the world, Elsie said, staring mournfully into a teacup that had long ago been licked clean of every last drop of Tetleys and soggy crumb of custard cream. Routines go straight out the window.

      Harry glanced away from the TV, which was showing aerial footage of a tiger chasing pigeons in Trafalgar Square. Really? That’s the worst part? It’s not the deaths of millions and the imminent fall of civilisation, it’s that nobody’s been round with the tea trolley for a couple of hours?

      "Six hours, Elsie said. I’m spitting feathers over here."

      So’s that tiger, Flora said, nodding at the screen.

      Harry gave her a disapproving look. Not funny, Flo. That’s the one that ate Jeremy Clarkson, you know.

      Is it? Oh well, there you go. Silver linings, and all that. She watched the tiger make a particularly spectacular leap. With any luck, it’ll bag Danny Dyer next.

      Harry tutted loudly and went back to the TV while Elsie wheeled herself across the room to the jigsaw table. Young Justin was still curled up in a ball underneath.

      Justin? How you doing, pet?

      There was no response.

      You know what would make you feel better? A nice cuppa. And a plate of Hobnobs, maybe. Don’t you think? Justin?

      Leave the poor boy alone, Elsie, Flora said. I told you before, we can’t get in the kitchen. It’s full of baboons. And one of them funny furry things, what are they called?

      Sasquatch?

      No, no. Llamas, that’s it.

      Oh, right. I suppose they are pretty funny. Spit at you, too, if you get too close.

      That’s why I didn’t, not even to look for Hobnobs. Although no, hang on, isn’t that camels?

      Is it? I’m not sure. Could be. Better watch yourself when you go to the ladies, then, because there’s a couple of them in there.

      Under the table, Justin let out a faint, plaintive, Oh God, and began to cry quietly.

      Flora bent down, slowly, and landed a pat on his shoulder. This, see, this is the trouble with the younger generation.

      Elsie nodded. No resilience. No backbone. No Blitz spirit.

      That as well, yeah. But I was going to say they get paralysed by despair when they realise they’re going to die without having had much sex. I mean, look at him, poor lad, he’s barely grown out of his bumfluff and acne. And now here we are, and his only chance of a last-night-on-Earth shag is with one of us lot. Or the llama. It’s just tragic, that’s what it is.

      Shush, Harry said, flapping his hands. The Prime Minister’s going to be giving a speech in a minute. I want to listen.

      Pfft, Flora said. The tiger can have him next, after Danny Dyer. Although there’s no chance of that happening, is there? He’s not going to be out there on the streets. None of them are. All the bloody government are going to be holed up in a nice bunker somewhere chomping on a year’s supply of tinned tuna and prostitutes while the rest of us poor buggers are left to get on with it.

      Harry turned around in his armchair and directed another scandalised, "Shush," at her.

      Shush yourself, old man. It’s only going to be the usual bollocks — don’t panic, stay indoors, everything’s under control, blah blah blah. I’d rather carry on watching the tiger, at least he’s interesting. And better looking, come to that.

      We could always play a game, Elsie said. How about charades? I’ll go first.

      Oh no, you don’t, Flora said quickly. "All you ever do is pick Gone with the Wind and use it as an excuse to let rip. I’m wise to your game, madam. And the air fresheners are all in the supply cupboard, which is infested with garden snails. So no, we’ll do Twenty Questions instead, and I’ll go first. Question one: which of the beasts in here is most likely to kill and eat us first?"

      Ooh, I know that one, Harry said, raising his hand. It’s the baboons. The rest are all herbivores.

      Flora pointed at him. One-nil to Harry.

      Elsie frowned. I don’t think that’s quite how the game works, you know.

      Call it the apocalypse rules version. Elsie, your go.

      Oh. Okay then. Errr… what happens to us after we die?

      Hmm. Flora rubbed her chin. I’m going with total existential annihilation. Do I get the point?

      No, no, Harry said, waving his hand in the air again. I know this one, too. It’s whatever you believe happens.

      It’s what?

      What happens is whatever you believe happens, Harry said patiently. I read it in this book once. Self-determined something or other. Basically, it said that if you believe you get reincarnated, or go to heaven, or whatever, then you do.

      That’s the nuttiest thing I’ve ever heard, Flora said.

      Harry glanced back at the TV, where a harried-looking weatherman was forecasting light winds and a shower of badgers over the Brecon Beacons. Really?

      I rather like the idea, Elsie said. It makes sense when you think about it. Explains all this, for a start.

      Flora hiked one bushy eyebrow. It does?

      It’s Beryl. You know, from Room Fourteen? She always liked animals better than people, and she died on Tuesday — right before this whole thing started. I can definitely see her believing animals should inherit the earth or whatever.

      You might have something there, Harry said, nodding. She always used to nick my rice pudding and feed it to next door’s cat. So if she managed to believe in this idea hard enough by the time she snuffed it, bingo. Instant animal planet.

      Elsie nodded. Exactly.

      You two are as bad as each other, you know that? Pair of barmpots, the both of you.

      Shush, Elsie said, closing her eyes.

      Oh, not you and all. What’s the matter now?

      "Shush, Flo. I’m trying to believe."

      Believe what?

      I don’t know yet. Something nice. She sighed. Although all that’s coming to mind is tea and biscuits, and I can’t help thinking the afterlife ought to have a bit more substance to it than that.

      I want to be twenty-five again, Harry said. I was a lovely lad, at twenty-five. Full head of hair and everything. I don’t want to go back to the nineteen-fifties, though. I’d miss high-definition telly and pot noodles. And all the internet porn, of course. Can’t forget that. His eyes brightened. Here, can we have our afterlife in the future? Get jet packs and flying cars and stuff?

      I think you can do whatever you want, Elsie said.

      Flora shook her head. Listen to yourselves. You’ve gone bonkers.

      Elsie shrugged. "In case you hadn’t noticed, everything’s gone bonkers. You said it yourself, Flo — it’s the apocalypse. Normal rules don’t apply."

      Hmm, Flora said, watching the TV. Outside Buckingham Palace, a shrieking reporter was going down for the third time under a tidal wave of hamsters. You might have a point there.

      Beryl loved hamsters, Elsie said, following her gaze.

      And dinosaurs, Harry said. She must have made us watch Jurassic Park at least ten times a week.

      True, Elsie said, and Flora nodded. Then all three of them glanced rather nervously at the door.

      It’s got to be worth a go, don’t you reckon? Elsie said. It’s not as if we’ve got anything to lose, after all.

      Flora huffed. "Well, I suppose if it’s all bollocks then we’re back to the concept of existential annihilation and there’s no harm done. Well, apart from the actual

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