Regret’s Relief – Travis Wade Beaty

I would have never gone to the Glyphs of Onyx if I hadn’t fallen in love. I was in my final year at the University of Spell-Craft in Silver Forge. And as Silver Forge was the nearest port to the island of Onyx, and as the glyphs had been discovered only five years prior, students were always taking little holidays up there to see them. Most returned unimpressed. The Onyxian parliament itself had investigated the …

It came from Jack Neel Waddell

Jack Neel Waddell’s story “Rooks on Sundays” was published in Metaphorosis on Friday, 1 November 2019. The impetus of this story was Heinlein’s “ ’—All You Zombies—’ ”, although they have little obvious in common. While Heinlein’s masterpiece is a gutwrenching puzzle, it laid bare one element I wanted to meditate upon — how manipulating people isn’t always about the control you have over them, but can be about struggling against the ever-diminishing influence in your environment …

A question for Joe Prosit

Q: Do you write with a particular audience in mind?

A: I don’t write for any particular reader in mind. I guess I’m self-serving in the way that, if I enjoy the story, if I think it’s creepy or compelling or speaks to me, then I write it. When other people connect, it makes it all the more satisfying because it’s natural and unforced. Nothing is contrived.


Joe Prosit’s story “Pre-Triage
in Metaphorosis Friday, 15 May 2020.
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About Hannah Hulbert

Hannah Hulbert lives in urban Dorset, UK. She is on a permanent sabbatical from reality as she raises two children and devotes her scarce free time to visiting imaginary worlds, some of her own creation. She has a degree in Ancient and Medieval History and an obsession with man-made places in the process of being reclaimed by nature. She is probably tweeting or doodling at this very moment.

@hhulbert


Hannah Hulbert’s story “A Witch’s Guide to Mushrooms and Toadstools
in Metaphorosis Friday, 22 May 2020.
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Figlia della Neve – Jonathan Louis Duckworth

The wife’s eyes are closed, but there is no flutter of dream under her lids, and when her name escapes like a shy moth from the husband’s tongue, she says, “Go on, I’m listening.” The husband begins his story. The young man set out early one winter morning in search of the fabled Cold Lady. After hours of searching, he found her gliding through the silvered lindens and fell utterly in love. Her limbs were …