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    Breach: Issue #06: NZ and Australian SF, Horror and Dark Fantasy
    Breach: Issue #06: NZ and Australian SF, Horror and Dark Fantasy
    Breach: Issue #06: NZ and Australian SF, Horror and Dark Fantasy
    Ebook59 pages52 minutes

    Breach: Issue #06: NZ and Australian SF, Horror and Dark Fantasy

    By Breach

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    About this ebook

    Hari Navarro's dark fantasy Tongue and the Australian Gothic of Joshua Kemp's Ouroboros book-end our super-sized sixth issue. In between you'll find symbiotic alien relationships, dismembered bodies and dubious medical professionals. An abattoir of horror and hope. Everlasting love. Ghosts.

    Cover art by Oliver Hayes.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBreach
    Release dateNov 19, 2018
    ISBN9780463404737
    Breach: Issue #06: NZ and Australian SF, Horror and Dark Fantasy
    Author

    Breach

    Breach is bi-monthly online zine showcasing Australian and NZ writers and artists, with a lean to sci-fi and horror. Our focus is on new and emerging Australian and New Zealand writers and artists, and helping them get their work out into the world. Publishers of Alfie Simpson's "Sub-Urban" (Breach #07), winner of the Best Horror Short Story at the 2018 Aurealis Awards. Our stories have been shortlisted for numerous awards, including the Aurealis, Australian Shadows and the Sir Julius Vogel Awards. We only publish what we love and believe in and we champion our authors every way we can.

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      Book preview

      Breach - Breach

      Issue #06

      Science Fiction, Horror and Dark Fantasy from Australia and New Zealand.

      ISSN 2209-2196

      Copyright © 2018 by each individual author as noted.

      All rights reserved.

      Find us online at:

      breachzine.com

      facebook.com/breachzine

      twitter.com/BartholemewFord

      instagram.com/breach_magazine

      Cover Art and Design by Oliver Hayes.

      Layout by Peter Kirk.

      Edited by Bartholemew Ford.

      Published by Breach.

      Thank you for supporting independent publishers, writers and artists.

      Contents

      Hari Navarro – Tongue

      Sean Mulroy – REFUGEE CRISIS! WILL YOU HELP A TARKAZOID EXILE?

      Hannah C. van Didden – Kim Blaine, Blood Broker

      Peter Kirk – Meatworks

      Joshua Drummond – The Advancement of Science

      Abby Wilder – Close Your Eyes

      Robert N. Stephenson – Artificial Love

      Lana Lea – Heartless

      Joshua Kemp – Ouroboros

      Tongue

      Hari Navarro

      Hari Navarro comes to you from the breast-shaped bit that pokes out of the West Coast of New Zealand’s majestically monikered North Island. Far from an avid reader, inspiration is drawn instead from the lacerating love letters of Cobain and Frangipane and all things short and squat. He's had work published at 365Tomorrows, Breach #05 and shortly Issue #239 of AntipodeanSF.

      As the girl reached up and broke off an appropriate length of supplejack vine she shuddered at what variety of spittle-lipped joy her master would induce in himself as he bent her across his plaid knee and whipped her with it.

      But then, before she even had a chance to give it an ominous snap through the air, she was gone. Whisked away in a thump of black light to a place that spun far beyond the celestial cross that hung prostrate and high up in the space above her head.

      A place with a palace; a gargantuan stack of man fashioned granite that rose as if pulled from the steeple-like mountain spur at its base. A centuries-old structure of arches, niches, and tombs, of grand halls with dining tables so long they vanished to a point and priapic minarets that shot to the sky.

      The scientists had howled as finally their toil it gave birth. For so long they had targeted this fascinating speck, this distant fleck of light that had, until now, offered so much but given so very, very little.

      To date, they had but conjured a mysterious half-chewed yellow centred chocolate covered rectangle and a seeping prophylactic that had wowed the masses as briefly it had glowed in the dark.

      But now in the tank, shivering and wet, a thing that looked just like them. The same, but for its beading flesh. It singed a radiant and burnt copper olive – an unfortunate side-effect of the jaunt they surmised.

      Such a shame, but all may not be lost for her eyes they are chasms, as likewise they smoked and coiled in curling twists of choc-filled brown. If only these pools be enough to captivate the old man and spare them the serrated rust edge of his rage.

      The king was not an evil man, but, he was a perpetually unfulfilled one who did so love things that brought a smile to the wine-stained slit of his whiskered sad lip. Things he could frame and polish and pour into the pit hollow that forms when wives and children are burnt to black crisps.

      He stands hands on overstuffed hips watching as the girl is sluiced to his feet, and all in the room they clutch hold of their breath. Silently, they watch and pray that indeed the whelm pools of this creatures disconsolate eyes will entice the old man and make up for the ruined tone of her skin.

      The king doesn't smile but he does snort as he wonders how ever he could dispose of such beauty – tainted and miscoloured as it is. Nobody can hear but there is a collective sigh that rings, a surging silent echo throughout the castle entire. This as he commands the waif be bathed in herb-scented water and wrapped in the smoothest of gowns.

      She seems so small as she is led into the gush-lift that elevates up to her chambers, a block of solidified air at her feet. She looks down and a sickness swills and she clutches at her stomach. An acidic bite that's fleeting, as the hundreds of

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