Conor Matthews

Joined May 2021

210 stories

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Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews

Stories (210)

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The Walk. Top Story - November 2025.
“The boy died three days from internal bleeding. His funeral will be tomorrow. Did you know that?” Father Graham shook his head, keeping his eyes on their steps along the sodden gravel and mud caked road, strewn lightly with damp, limp leaves from the dying autumn. The winter chill had yet to arrive, but a damp heavy air hung over the two men as they continued their walk.
By Conor Matthews4 months ago in Fiction
Doing Lines
Alphabetically numbered lines shuffle along, Muffling coughs from one throat to the next. Gathered once a month for a college reunion;
By Conor Matthews4 months ago in Poets
3 Years on Basic Income
My heart is racing as I write this. My breath shushes and blows with teeth siphoning inhales and whistling sighs. I just paid my taxes.
By Conor Matthews4 months ago in Journal
Shush
You are the vestige of my love: An echo of emotion long since dissipating into apathy. A muscle memory of happiness flexing more in dull repetition than lustful instinct.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Bonfire In A Wet Woodland
I trudged softened steps, Onto pillowy growths, And spongey squelching moss, When I came to a sight, Shying behind a tree,
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Venus
Yours is not the colour of dirt, My Love, But a sign you are of the Earth. Flavourful, distinct, and enriched, Steeped,
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Pairs
There are two shoes to choose, On this blue afternoon, From the side of a heavy bed, Alluring calling, You to rest your cloudy mind,
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
The Candidate
Wilma sat waiting to meet the would-be President. Would-be and could-be. Surely all presidential candidates are “would-be” presidents, Wilma mused, nervously flicking her mind from subject to subject in order to occupy her time. In Wilma’s defence, the fate of the world depended on this meeting. And she should know; she’s from the future.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Fiction
Momento
These moments will pass, Like glittering sands, Through an hourglass. Good and bad are rushed, Falling silent forever;
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Why?
The great irony of the modern age is that we are adrift in a sea of digitalised knowledge and there’s not a drop to drink. Not because the waters of education are too salty, but because there isn’t a taste for learning to quench.
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in The Swamp
Cards. Top Story - September 2025.
Makaela sat at the table with a Mother’s Day card from her only child spread flat before her; a child she had given up for adoption twenty-eight years ago.
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Fiction
Returning. Top Story - August 2025.
He had decided today would be the last day of summer, in every sense. Literally, as July twenty-nineth was as good as any other day to declare the season over, but also figuratively summer was over for his life, being sixty, his birthday only two months before, if he calculated the calendar correctly twenty years ago. Life comes in seasons, he’s heard, and fate is insistent that autumn should arrive; a season of change, of harvesting, of preparation, of accepting the winter soon to come.
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Fiction