Teresa Renton
Bio
Inhaling life, exhaling stories, poetry, prose, flash or fusions. An imperfect perfectionist who writes and recycles words. I write because I love how it feels to make ink patterns & form words, like pictures, on a page.
Stories (32/0)
If I Could Hold Anything in my Hand, it Would be a Real Faerie
These magical creatures have been my passport to another world–an enchanted land that watched me and waited. This promise lingered in my dreams, forever tattooed on the skin of my life. Meanwhile, the faerie folk mopped my tears.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Fiction
- Second Place in SFS 3: Brown Paper Box Challenge
The PromiseSecond Place in SFS 3: Brown Paper Box Challenge
“Think about it,” Alex said one day. “They have offered me the big promotion. And you can work from anywhere. You’re portable.” He stretched his arms in front of her, palms open, shoulders hunched, defeat already tensing his features.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Fiction
Murder on the Train
Shortlisted in the Vocal+ fiction awards * * * * * She sat opposite me without a word, her head turned towards the window, her eyes unblinking. Her stony expression almost veiled her fear. I joined her in gazing at the passing landscape, each of us gaining and offering comfort from this shared activity. The rhythmic whoosh of the train continued, oblivious to everything but its mission of heading forward.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Fiction
From Nobody to Somebody
It perched on the mantelpiece, aloof, self-assured, and provocative. A seemingly harmless rectangle of card bearing its messages in sophisticated font and branding colours. Yet I felt the thud of my heart dropping to the floor each time I glanced in its direction. Too ashamed to respond, yet too frightened not to, I allowed the entire business of the invitation to consume me.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Humans
A Subtle Shift of Shadow
The last time I saw a face was about a month ago. Before that was twenty-two years ago when I was six months old but too young to remember anything. They sealed our eyes over with a veil and virtual perfection became our reality at around six months of age. We lived in a curated world from before we were able to form memories; the Custodian Congress allocated experiences, physical attributes, and education. Everyone lived a blissful existence devoid of crime, pain, and anxiety. Life was a film set of beautiful Stepford people and lush landscapes.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Fiction
Gentle Stories of Discovery
It perched on the mantelpiece, aloof, self-assured, and provocative. A seemingly harmless rectangle of card bearing its messages in sophisticated font and branding colours. Yet I felt the thud of my heart dropping to the floor each time I glanced in its direction. Too ashamed to respond, yet too frightened not to, I allowed the whole business of the invitation to consume me.
By Teresa Renton2 years ago in Motivation
