Short Stories
2020: Bridport Prize
Faded Ink
He sees her face in the archives, she looks older than she was, perhaps we all look older in black and white.
He remembers his son asking whether pandas can only see black and white.
I don’t know, he said.
They might be colour blind, she added.
He nodded, yes they might, we must google that later.
But they never did google that later, they ran out of time.
Fresh newspapers with wet ink, black thumbprints that he pressed down on white sheets of paper. His father laughing, careful not to stain your clothes. Newspapers filled with stories he didn’t understand, newspapers that filled most of his father’s time. His young fingers traced the headlines, rubbing against them, his fingertips turned jet black.
Jet black, she had said as they lay in bed, your hair is jet black.
Why do we say jet black?
Like the military jets I suppose. Her skin off white like fresh warm milk.
Military black, heavy solid boots he wore in forty degrees heat in the thick of the jungle searching for flags, part of their training, shooting dull black guns, planning for attacks that never seemed to happen. Attacks on strangers that might come wearing black masks with a white stripe.
He looks at her face, she isn’t smiling, she always hated getting her photograph taken. He reads the date, two days before, two days before a man in a black vest and a white t-shirt bombed the bus she took to work.
2019: The Best Asian Short Stories
Willie’s Chinese Funeral Urn
“Another notable mention is “Willie’s Chinese Funeral Urn”. The story is told entirely from the perspective of the urn, which traces the disintegrating arc of its owner’s life.”
2016: Lakeview International Journal of Literature and Arts
The Little girl died and everyone was sad
A little girl born in that hospital where she died after they switched off the machine, there was no point, there was no hope. A little girl well liked she supposed, for weren’t most little girls well liked by someone. She was ten, a decade, an achievement in itself. A block of years and now she was dead after she crossed the zebra crossing yesterday afternoon and a young man in a white van high on drugs slammed into her…
2016: Kitaab
Collection of Short Stories: Halfway Up A Hill
“Deft, thoughtful, and eschewing cliché, T.A. Morton’s slice of contemporary Hong Kong showcases her skills as a sharp social observer. While a cross –section of locals and expatriates struggles to survive financially, emotionally and physically, the coffee shop that connects them becomes a character in itself, reflecting the clashing moods and impulses of a city too busy for introspection. Morton is a talent to watch.”
