Renessa Norton
Bio
Achievements (1)
Stories (20/0)
Paper Cuts
Darla's hands wrapped around the ceramic of the mug, warmed by the hot cocoa within. She took a sip and watched as the windows shrunk, snow piling up inch by inch around the cabin. She hadn't been here for years - since her and Derek had first started dating, desperate to catch a few blissful days of solitude away from their nosy roommates. Back when they couldn't keep their hands off each other. When the "I love you"s dripped from their lips unconsciously. When each others' idiosyncrasies were charming, not grating. As the night fell and the snow continued to, Darla switched her childhood beverage for an adult one. The wine warmed her insides and blurred the edges between reality and fantasy. She found herself enamoured by the snow, thinking darkly of the icicles that had formed around her heart. The tiny paper cuts that they had scarred into each other after 12 years - to the point she had no choice to put her heart on ice as an act of self-preservation. To survive. She couldn't pinpoint the moment she decided to venture into the depths of the night, but as she came to her senses and tried to navigate back to the cabin, she realised she was lost. After some time, she fell to the ground, defeated. Yet, when she came to, back at the cabin - warm, thawed; she felt whole again. And there he was - her saviour. Derek had brought her back to life.
By Renessa Norton6 months ago in Fiction
Shackabomble
Stephanie hurdled into the cinema. "My brother was in a car accident. He was driving and a meth head ran him off the road but the police thought it was his fault and he was arrested. Luckily someone saw the other driver smoking a pipe earlier and they let Jacob go." Everyone else in the group huddled around Stephanie, hugging and consoling her. Everyone except myself and Ricky. 10 years I'd been hearing her bullshit stories. She didn't even have a brother called Jacob. I'd lost count of how many siblings she'd invented over the years. 12 by my count. In a three bedroom house where her grandmother also lived (actually - not by her delusional mind). I was fucking done. All of these lies designed to make people feel sorry for her middle class life with a father, grandmother and actual brother who loved her. "Shackabomble," I said, quietly at first. Everyone stopped talking. "What?" Stephanie said uncertainly. "Shackabomble. Shackabomble. SHACKABOMBLE." I got progressively louder with each Shackabomble. She could see the anger in my eyes as I advanced upon her, sending our friends scattering. She stepped back with each of my steps. "Shackabomble, bitch," I demanded. "Okay," she conceded. "Dad had to drop Eugene [her actual brother] at soccer practice." Everyone stared between us. The power had shifted. Finally someone had called her out. Ricky, a family friend of Stephanie's who also knew the truth, grinned at me. At last. Someone had called her out. Check mate, fucker.
By Renessa Norton9 months ago in Fiction
The Frame. Top Story - October 2023.
Evelyn leant against the wall, an empty hook above her, a frame three feet from her lay on the ground looking a little more tattered than moments before. It contained a photograph from four years prior of herself and her only love, Henry. Her heart was racing, her mind confused - this was the second time the photo had hurled itself backward off its hook. “Are you there, love?” she thought, focusing on trying to bridge the void between the world and the other side. He’d been gone for two years, three months and 17 days now, yet she could still feel his hand in hers, butterflies in her stomach as though it were the first time 61 years ago. “If you’re there, do it again,” she silently dared him. She braced herself as she rehung the picture. Nothing. She sighed and wandered into the kitchen to make herself her 10:00am international roast coffee. Just as she was opening a packet of scotch finger biscuits to have on the side, *THWACK!* the biscuit packet split open wide as Evelyn jumped through the roof. She dared to glance into the living room. Sure enough, the picture frame was in the middle of the room, face up, perfectly centred with Henry’s shining eyes looking directly up at a photo of the two of them together on their wedding day. “What a beautiful day that was, love. The happiest day of my life,” Evelyn urged through the void. With that, the lamp beside the couch flickered. Evelyn’s grandchildren had told her that the morning Henry had passed, they had all experienced varying power failures at their houses. They’d speculated it was Henry’s sign that he was still somewhere in the universe, a play on their surname of “Power.”
By Renessa Norton10 months ago in Fiction
A Man Called Ove. Runner-Up in Critique Challenge.
Old man. Grump. Bloody youngens these days. Society is doomed. This bloody cat again. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? Can I just die in peace already? This food is pretty good. Cat’s alright too, I guess. Suppose I have to save the neighbourhood myself. Life ain’t so bad.
By Renessa Norton12 months ago in Critique
Hector the Protector
“Hector! Come hither!” bellowed the drawling screech of King Aloysius. Hector jumped at the booming voice of his master, and scuttled through the stone hallways of the King’s Court, tripping over his pointed, belled slippers, landing squarely at the feet of the King. As he stumbled to stand, his hat brushed His Majesty’s nether regions, causing the servant to stutter his apologies.
By Renessa Norton3 years ago in Fiction
Life by Chocolate
December 11… two weeks to perfect a dessert and blow everyone’s champagne-soaked, Yuletide minds. I had spent the weekend trawling through the internet, pulling out long-forgotten, dust-bound cookbooks from cupboards I might open thrice per decade. I had even taken to social media, begging almost strangers for their best recipes. Finally, I had it narrowed down to four - a sticky date pudding, creme brulee with raspberry coulis and two very different chocolate cakes. I silently thanked the generous employment contract I had negotiated for myself which included seven weeks’ paid holidays per year. This allowed me to take a full month off over Christmas as I got to work planning my culinary magnum opus.
By Renessa Norton3 years ago in Fiction
The Fallen
It was a sound that Sarah had heard countless times. 10, 9, 8… A sound that typically indicated that something exciting was about to happen. New years, or… when else did anyone actually count down out loud? Now that she thought of it, it made sense that she wasn’t excited. New years’ eve had never held much appeal to her. It was just another day, except more disappointing somehow. It held so much promise but rarely, if ever, did it result in any palpable change. People swearing to change their lives without being willing to change themselves or their outlook on life. And then the bad habits just gradually became worse because they had repressed them for a week. If you want to know what I mean, take a look at peoples’ fingernails on the 10th of January each year - it is as though a ravenous toddler mauled them with fresh, strong baby teeth not yet cursed with cavities or fear of a chipped tooth.
By Renessa Norton3 years ago in Fiction
The Sun God
It was so rare that the sun would shine in Springville that when this glorious event occurred, everyone would drop what they were doing and bask in the glow from above. If it fell on a work day, businesses would shutter, sending their staff home to take advantage of the miracle - the exact opposite of a snow day, which tended to not garner much attention in this town.
By Renessa Norton3 years ago in Fiction
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