Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon
Bio
Just open your veins and write.
Find me on Substack https://celticchameleon.substack.com/
Stories (15/0)
The Curse of the Well Endowed Woman
Black bras dangled enticingly behind the counter; some sparkly, some lacy, some with a satin sheen. My fingertips yearned to stroke their velvety contours. 50 percent off murmured the sale sign. Come on, you know you want me.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon2 months ago in Confessions
A Call to the Past
Twelve things I'd tell my 16 year old self This is a dangerous world, and though it doesn't do to focus too much upon that which we cannot alter, nor is it helpful to make ourselves targets by promoting daydreams and buttercups as an alternative to reality.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon2 months ago in Humans
Everyone Has to Sleep, Said Mother
Julie was my friend, but she was also a coward. We had both experienced similar threats, beatings and attacks. But her way was to cower and cry and keep tolerating. Mine was to get out when I could and never return.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon3 months ago in Horror
Listen
The first time I heard the recording was the morning after a visitation. Awakening in the darkness to a voice speaking my name was something I couldn't become accustomed to. Dismissed by others as hallucinations, or an otherwise natural affliction, still the phenomenon troubled me.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon3 months ago in Horror
A Mother's Just Deserts
In the morning hush before they descended, Judy practiced being kind. It didn't come naturally. She focused on breathing and meditation and the positives the day would bring. Judy prided herself on not raising her voice or using sarcasm with her students, so she could always make the claim "I don't speak to you disrespectfully, so please don't answer me that way" without earning a snigger.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon3 months ago in Horror
In California, the Weightless Light Fell Upward
This is how it is to have the superpower of barely diminished memory. Moments preserved in amber. All the lost things, the dead and the living and the yearning existing in unison; a museum of reflections.
By Alison Tennent - The Celtic Chameleon3 months ago in Poets
