Matthew Agnew
Bio
Writing makes the bad thoughts go away, and the good thoughts more memorable. Despite the ominous tone, I love to write with humor and deep thought that helps me grow.
Achievements (1)
Stories (19)
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First at 35
In mid-April of 1985, my grandmother, still nauseous from the terror-inducing 40-minute drive across the Golden Gate Bridge, watched as her eldest daughter was about to lie to the father of her child. The lie, born in fear and love, did not come easy, yet in the moment, it was her truth. What she needed. What she thought I needed.
By Matthew Agnew4 years ago in Humans
Welcome to Winter
“Staring won’t make it melt faster Nick.” Sonya cheerfully called from our side porch. My body awoke from a streaming swirl of thoughts and sent a tremor of alertness up my spine. The sudden motion angered my plastic Adirondack chair past a moment of reconciliation, sending an alarming crack through the frigid, still air. The remains of my seat collapsed around me like cheap shrapnel as I was unceremoniously dethroned, meeting the packed snow beneath me with a dull thud.
By Matthew Agnew4 years ago in Fiction
A Void of Anticipated Silence
Innately, children have a poor sense of fashion. For years, Vern watched as student after student paraded around proudly in too small t-shirts spotted with the latest fad driven superhero team, sweatpants a shade of brown not completely known to Vern, and dark blue Bills jerseys whose fit better resembled a thigh high skirt than an actual, acceptably sized top.
By Matthew Agnew4 years ago in Fiction
A Few Favorite Things
Always the one to pepper macabre undertones on a joyous occasion, Christmas for Eleanor meant two things...presents and death. This was, as a matter of fact, Eleanor’s 13th “last” Christmas. Four holiday seasons prior, it would surely be the last time she would gather her extended, matriarcal driven family in one spot. Her eyes could no longer register the difference between sugar, salt, and flour, so baking was out of the question (a point driven home by a particularly salt-heavy apple pie that sat largely uneaten at the post-Thanksgiving dessert table). If she could no longer provide her family with pie, what would be the point of continuing on?
By Matthew Agnew4 years ago in Fiction
Ink and the Impulsive
I’m not a sign. Not a template crafted by dreamers. I evolve. I change. I learn. Shy to some, outward to most, I leap more often first, enjoying the quickly earned spoils or analyzing the broken path in the dimmed light of hindsight. Uncertainty and self-criticism were once pillars, bookending every interaction, every thought, every movement. Now, they remain but no longer bear the load. I choose friends. Growing closer and further apart as time flows. I evolve.
By Matthew Agnew5 years ago in Humans
