Conor Darrall
Bio
Short stories, poetry and some burble . Irish traditional musician, medieval swords guy, draoi and strange egg. Bipolar/ADD/CPTSD/Brain Damage. Currently querying my novel 'The Forgotten 47' - @conordarrall / www.conordarrall.com
Stories (130)
Filter by community
Miss Widdecombe's Marmalade
Miss Widdecombe’s Marmalade (for LP and LL, with my love) 1 The smell of oranges was the first thing that I noticed when I crossed the threshold of the lodging house of the Misses J & E Widdecombe on that fine summer’s evening three years ago; a burnt, sweetened smell that lingered in the nostrils, and seemed to hang like a rumour in the sun-cooked air. It brought to mind the fruit-groves and lazy days of my adolescence, and as I set down my valise and shook off my travelling cloak, I felt an immediate, comfortable, torpor settle down on my shoulders, brushing away the cares of the day. It had been a most wearying journey.
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Fiction
Hope without guarantees - the life and works of J.R.R Tolkien. First Place in Fan(dom) Favorite Challenge.
Mae govannen! If we were to meet one day, dear reader, perhaps crossing paths in London under a gently insinuating, but probably over-priced, rain shower, I would begin our discourse with the phrase, 'Mae Govannen' (well met!) before we began expounding on the recent sports-ball tournament, our writing projects, the depressing news tales, or more likely, our cats. It being London, we would likely be shoved in front of a passing bus by one of the friendly locals, and therefore it might be safer if we tried convening in a pub.
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Geeks
The Orchard Watchers
By the new spring's arrival, struggling to make itself seen before the end of March, Fergus’ beard had gone fully white, matching the snowy blossoms that exploded from the pear trees. Another year gone by and he was still fulfilling the promise he had made so many years before. When he thought about it for any great length of time, Fergus could hazard a guess at being somewhat far into his sixties. So much time had passed.
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Fiction
An Inconvenient Tooth
I had been in the chair for an hour before Doctor Kanji finally came around to having a go at the molar. I had been in a bad mood already that day but the delay, and the swollen, rotten fruit feeling of lidocaine in my cheek, made me almost tearful with frustration.
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Fiction
After Ice-Walk
All my life I’ve tried to walk across the ice, out over the middle of the lake and on to the far side, daring the meandering micro-fractures that spread out from my heels to connect, wishing for them to create a fractal breach that will give way as I take my next step. All my life I’ve done it: daring, hoping, taunting, swaggering, trembling and finally revelling when I make it to the other side, victorious.
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Fiction
Marigolds
-1- As the young woman died within the house beyond, the three cloud-walkers debated who would take her with them. “It won’t be long now,” muttered Foirfe, her voice dry and sharp, like the willow wand she resembled. She had her timepiece in hand and nodded her approval. “Three hours now, the child is a fighter. She’ll do well with me.”
By Conor Darrall4 years ago in Fiction
