Metaphorosis February 2017

By Kaos Nest, Eric Del Carlo, Suzanne J. Willis 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

• Halfsies – Eric Del Carlo
• A Nightingale’s Map of the City – Suzanne Willis
• The Naked Me – N. Immanuel Velez
• Chambers of the Heart – B. Morris Allen

Cover art by Kaos Nest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metaphorosis Publishing
• Release date: Jun 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640760813

Book preview

Metaphorosis

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February 2017

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edited by

B. Morris Allen

ISSN: 2573-136X (online)

ISBN: 978-1-64076-081-3 (e-book)

Metaphorosis

Neskowin

Table of Contents

Metaphorosis

February

Halfsies

Eric Del Carlo

A Nightingale’s Map of the City

Suzanne J. Willis

The Naked Me

N. Immanuel Velez

Chambers of the Heart

B. Morris Allen

Metaphorosis Publishing

Copyright

February 2017

Halfsies — Eric Del Carlo

A Nightingale’s Map of the City — Suzanne J. Willis

The Naked Me — N. Immanuel Velez

Chambers of the Heart — B. Morris Allen

Halfsies

Eric Del Carlo

The new word seemed somehow old-fashioned. Halfsies. Like how Tariq’s sun-shrunken, onetime surfer grandfather would say rad when he deemed some event or circumstance especially good. Halfsies, as a term, sounded funny and harmless. But it wasn’t meant to be funny, Tariq had learned. And it sure as hell wasn’t harmless, not according to Tariq’s friend from the liberated camp, Kayleigh, who explained to him, It’s a prejudice word.

The human soldiers who had come to the camp after the Blues fled had been helpful, but not what could be called friendly. Everyone in camp was hungry because the food had run out. Tariq remembered the gnawing from his gut, the hollow brightness ringing in his skull. The soldiers had brought supplies and provided medical attention. They were combat troops, battle-strapped and war weary. Tariq wandered amongst the looming, battered, dirty figures. They were the first adult humans he’d seen in a very long time.

How different they were from the Blues. Their manner was blunt, assertive. They assumed roles of authority and expected—demanded—all the children to acknowledge their supremacy in this chaotic situation. Whenever Tariq or any of the kids failed to obey an order immediately, it was barked a second time. The armed women and men watched their every movement.

The soldiers certainly weren’t cruel, but they treated the newly freed prisoners the way one might a pack of stray dogs, administering field treatment in preparation for a trip to a shelter. It took Tariq a little while to understand how this made him feel. He was affronted, which was an adult kind of anger. He and the other kids should be wholeheartedly welcomed by these troops, he felt.

But no soldier had called him a halfsy during the liberation. The word came later. It was something civilians said, and also some people in the media, and a few politicians, now that the world was adjusting to its postwar phase.

They think we’re half one thing and half the other, Kayleigh said over the phone.

The young prisoners at that camp had originally been collected by the invading Blues from all over the world. Now they’d been processed by the Earth military and returned to their homes; but he and Kayleigh were staying in touch.

Half human and half Blue? Tariq asked unnecessarily.

What else? Kayleigh said, rolling her eyes. For a twelve-year-old, she could be sarcastic like a grownup.

Tariq, also twelve, didn’t feel he came off quite as sophisticated. But he had kept his head in the camp when others got scared, which had made him proud. He studied the image projected by his phone into the middle of his bedroom. Kayleigh was blond, where his hair was dark. Not that it mattered much since they both only had stubble on their heads.

Her Caucasian skin still had more of a turquoise sheen to it than his own naturally duskier flesh. But the blue color was fading from both of them.

What’re you looking at? she asked.

He had stared too long. If they had been on a playground somewhere, by now somebody would have said teasingly, Oooh, Tariq likes Kayleigh! But all that seemed idiotically childish after life in the camp. The experience had changed him, obviously. But he was also aware of awakenings in himself, new urges that came from the body.

Just looking at you. He said it in a straightforward way, as if those schoolyard embarrassments meant nothing now. Even so, he felt a flushing heat.

It’s okay. I like looking at you too. She spoke just as frankly, then tilted her head. My mom’s calling me. I got to go. Let’s talk again soon! With that she winked out.

Tariq gazed around his room. It looked surreal, even though absolutely nothing had changed. After the Blues had taken him, his parents had preserved everything, every detail. He had been gone for fifteen months.

He had missed home every day, had missed his dad and mom. But after a long while at the camp he had stopped imagining what it would be like when he got back here. Then, after an even longer time, he’d quit wondering if he would ever get home.

Now that he really was back, he wanted all that pure simple happiness he had promised himself. But being home was more complicated than he had expected. That sparked anger in him, a directionless sort of fury. Really, though, he could only be mad at himself for not responding the way he thought he should.

When the aliens had first appeared but before the war started, Tariq had been fascinated by them. He had put up posters of their ships and images of the aliens from the broadcasts they had sent to Earth. Now, in the grotesque familiarity of his bedroom, he had Blues and Blue spacecraft looking back at him from his walls.

He knew he should take all that stuff down. But he couldn’t. He knew he should hate the Blues…but he didn’t.

We’re here for you, sweetheart. Whenever and whatever you need.

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