Metaphorosis August 2017

By Candra Hope, Jamie Lackey, Kimberly Kaufman and 2 more

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

Table of Contents

• Shadows on Glass – Jamie Lackey
• What Have You Done to Be Happy Today? – Kimberly Kaufman
• Oven Game – Paul A. Hamilton
• An Aftertaste of Earth – Pauline Yates

Cover art by Candra Hope.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metaphorosis Publishing
• Release date: Jun 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640760875

Book preview

Metaphorosis

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August 2017

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edited by

B. Morris Allen

ISSN: 2573-136X (online)

ISBN: 978-1-64076-087-5 (e-book)

Metaphorosis

Neskowin

Table of Contents

Metaphorosis

August

Shadows on Glass

Jamie Lackey

What Have You Done to Be Happy Today?

Kimberly Kaufman

Oven Game

Paul A. Hamilton

An Aftertaste of Earth

Pauline Yates

Metaphorosis Publishing

Copyright

August 2017

Shadows on Glass — Jamie Lackey

What Have You Done to Be Happy Today? — Kimberly Kaufman

Oven Game — Paul A. Hamilton

An Aftertaste of Earth — Pauline Yates

Shadows on Glass

Jamie Lackey

Theodora Rhodes stood in the doorway and stared out at the field. The corn was chest-high and green, growing in neat rows.

It seemed impossible that the war had left a single thing untouched. And yet, here she was, familiar boards creaking under her bare feet, familiar smell of hotcakes and burnt coffee wafting from the kitchen. And in front of her, corn swayed in the summer morning breeze, just like it always had. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her brothers shouting at each other.

But she could also almost hear injured soldiers moaning and horses screaming, and see the purple haze of magic staining the western sky. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

The war was over, and her home was still here. And the memories would fade, with time.

She leaned against the doorframe and winced as the stump of her left arm caught against the rough wood. She scowled down at the thick bandages wrapped around the stub of her elbow joint. The constant pain had faded to a dull ache, but the ghosts of sensation remained.

Last night, she had reached out both hands to take her dinner plate. Her father had been unable to meet her eyes ever since.

Teddy, come on in here. The food’s ready.

Her father had set two places at the too-large table, and she sat in what had been her brother Toby’s chair, next to their father’s place at the head of the table.

None of the boys had come home from the war. Teddy imagined their bones bleaching in a field, and wondered if corn grew around their scattered remains.

I hear there’s a man in town selling prosthetics, her father said.

Teddy had to put her fork down to pick up her coffee. Doc says I’m not ready for a prosthetic yet.

You ought to go take a look anyway. It’d be good for you to get out of the house. He’s set up at the old Methodist church.

After breakfast, Teddy stacked plates and carried them to the sink, but her father waved any further help away. Get on with you.

She struggled out of the clothes that she’d managed to get herself into—a pair of Danny’s old trousers and her mother’s old sleeping shirt—and tried to make herself presentable.

All of her old things had too many buttons. She managed to fasten a skirt, but it slid right off of her hips. She ignored her growing frustration. She’d never have two hands again, and getting angry about it accomplished nothing.

Resigned, she pulled on her uniform. The hems on the pant legs were worn through, and the bloodstains refused to wash out, but the left sleeve was already tied up, and it was the only thing that fit. The nurses had replaced all of the buttons with snaps, so she could get into and out of it herself. Even now, the uniform felt right. Even now, when all that it stood for was defeat and ashes. There was nothing she could do about her hair—it was growing out around her face, uneven and split at the ends, too short to braid even if she’d had the use of both hands. She supposed a hook could be useful. She wondered what options the vendor would have.

She had a bit of money—the Western government had offered to handle all the back pay that was owed to the defeated Eastern soldiers. Maybe it was time to invest in a new wardrobe—she could head to the store after she stopped in at the church.

It felt good to be dressed, to get out of the house. The sun was warm on her face, the path familiar under her feet.

She pushed the church door open and froze.

The prosthetic vendor was a Western dandy, pale-haired and wire thin. His wares glowed with an eerie purple light. Teddy’s stomach turned. This dark magic was what they’d been fighting against—what