Conor Matthews
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Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
Stories (201)
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The First Date. Top Story - June 2025.
“What did you say?” It was then that Paul realised he had no idea what he had said. In fact, he did not know what he’s been saying for the past month. Paul, like many others in the near future, had opted to receive an AI chip brain implant. Thanks to the wonders of modern science and rampant capitalism, tech companies, BrainWave Solutions in Paul’s case, for a small fee of only a couple thousand euros can implant a chip in your brain to do your thinking for you. Usually these chips focus on specific mental faculties. One type can make you fluent in Japanese within seconds. Another can give trainee pilots forty years of flight experience. But Paul, who has struggled with women for the last thirty years of his forty-six years on this Earth, opted for the Casanova 2.1.1; the dating chip.
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Fiction
Her County: Finale
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 The mouth of the wooden cathedral gaped as the thick, dark oak doors parted, pulled aside of their own accord as I stood upon the threshold. I looked from the hollow, dark depths of the entrance hall, swallowing what little moonlight was cast upon my back, to the heights of the edifice, bulging and buckling under its own mighty weight, with three large and open circular shutters. Unsure, I turned around to Meabh and the others, still by the fire, watching me. Their unblinking eyes stirred a twinge of unease in my chest, but they didn't appear apprehensive, nor glowering. It was more out of fascination, as though I was about to do something extraordinary. I returned to the opening, reminding myself what was at stake, and stepped into the shallow, dim island of light.
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Chapters
Her County: Part 4
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 I had been running for some time before exhaustion overcame me. Every time I whipped around, looking behind me to the blackened woods, my eyes were haunted by the lingering imprint of those wide, hollow pupils, etched into my mind. I slowed, coming to an overgrowth, falling onto my hands and knees, laboriously heaving straining breaths. My elbows buckled with each inhale, quaking threateningly with every hot sigh, like some retching animal. My eyes stung as I forced them open, quickly realising every blink brought back that horrid face, hiding in the darkness of my eyelids. The jagged and harsh menagerie of splintered twigs, damp moss, and dirt sprinkled rocks were a hazy blur in my sight.
By Conor Matthews8 months ago in Chapters
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 Matthews8 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 Matthews8 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 Matthews9 months ago in Fiction
