Conor Matthews
Bio
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
Stories (206)
Filter by community
Her County: Part 3
PART 1 PART 2 The stream trickled over a craggy bed, darkened by trailing wisps of silt, flicking their spindly tails like long, muddy leeches. For most of the trek, I had to skip between either bank of this stream, as the descent gradually became steeper and steeper, with the overgrowth swallowing much of the path. I placed my feet in such a way as to dig my heel into the waterlogged earth to keep my balance. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that scribes aren’t given sandals like the elder monks. But, then again, the monks hardly expected me to be outside of the abbey. There were a lot of the things the monks didn’t know about me. Thankfully, they never would.
By Conor Matthews9 months ago in Chapters
Her County: Part 2
PART 1 I walked on all throughout the next two days, resting on the first night beneath a heavy, drooping willow. Exhaustion and the lulling, lapping sounds of a nearby stream sent me quickly into slumber so deep I only awoke late into the morning, losing much of the day. I was hungry, but if I was to fish then I’d only be finished cooking it on the spit when I’d need to rest again, so I followed the stream, thinking I may come to a township of some kind.
By Conor Matthews9 months ago in Fiction
If You Never Leave?. Top Story - April 2025.
Death was reading Wilma’s manuscript as she typed away another project. She didn’t mind them sitting in the armchair by the window of her office; she had long since gotten use to their quiet presence. Anxiety grows tedious with age, especially at one-hundred-and-forty.
By Conor Matthews9 months ago in Fiction
Her County: Part 1
I have a story to tell you. On the dawn of the third day into my journey, I came out from a thicket of trees, finding myself at the very edge of a rugged and torn field. At first, I hadn’t realised it was tilled. The heavy, clumping balls of earthy dirt were indistinguishable from the jagged and sharp rocks that seemed to float atop the sprawling sea of muck. Patches were more stone than soil; black and grey sediments that crumples underfoot, yet scraped coarsely on my soles. I had lost my sandals the previous evening as I cross marshland. It never occurred to me to pack another in my satchel.
By Conor Matthews10 months ago in Fiction
The Devil Called John Brown. Top Story - March 2025.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is written from the perspective of a Southerner character. I don't condone their viewpoint. Yes, I do feel like I have to clarify this; this is the Internet and irony is dead, apparently. Enjoy.
By Conor Matthews10 months ago in Poets
The One Good Thing About Trump
He’s honest. It sounds like the punchline to a joke, doesn’t it? Yes, he might be a manipulative, exploitive, opportunistic liar and conman who’s made a living off a reputation he didn’t build, only to flip-flop, backtracked, minimise, and pitifully excuse ever miniscule attempt at a cohesive character with even a shred of dignity he’s ever tried, but at least he’s honest about it!
By Conor Matthews11 months ago in The Swamp
