Conor Matthews
Bio
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
Stories (124/0)
The Trees Swallow People: Finale
My body ached the next morning. I don't mean later in the morning. I mean the next morning; we slept for twenty-four hours. The blank, open sky visible through the window was slowly being bleached with the sunrise. Silent, sheer clouds were fading in the distance. Pairs of magpies and starlings glided across the sky as I groaned to sit upright in the bed, fighting against sharp throbs of worn and torn muscles.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 23
I awoke, however much later, on the stripped, hardwood floor of an empty yet not unused bedroom. The pain in my chest stirred me, catching in my throat, like upcoming bile, stinging and hissing, lingering on my tongue the unpleasant taste of dirt and waste from years of decaying reeds, fish, and the occasionally discarded used condom. I couldn't settle on whether to vomit or swallow, not knowing which would be more relief. A fist thumped to the chest was enough to burst the swelling bubble of bile steaming the stench to the back of my nostrils.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Fiction
Disabilities = Profit
I am partially deaf, specifically I am what's called tone-deaf. It can differ but for me it means I hear bassier, harder sounds more clearly in my right ear, and sharper, more high-pitched sounds in my left ear. I am also dyslexic. Not severe enough to be illiterate or unable to read, but the way I describe it is my brain kind of works in auto-correct mode. I can write something, be confident I've written it perfectly, read it aloud with no problems, only to later find out that words are completely missing. The upside is it works on other people; I'm pretty good at reading misspelled words and confidently pronouncing them as the author intended.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Futurism
AI Shames You
AI shames you; and we kind of deserve it. You’re not here for me to introduce you to AI image/text/code/video generators. By now you know the skinny; generators, trained by data-sets of millions of examples, made by real human beings who never gave their consent to any of this, are able to produce “new” pieces of art, text, code, and responses to prompts inputted in by users. Since then, there’s been a panic over the future of creative fields; what does it mean for us if what takes us hours, days, or months to do can be done in seconds by AI?
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Futurism
The Trees Swallow People: Part 22
We were all waiting to die when Sibhann Sullivan came out with trays of teas, biscuits, and chocolates. She apologised; they were unopened from Christmas, which was only a problem for the old biddies recoiling in dismay. I took a Twirl and a chocolate digestive because of Sibhann's goading. Eric Sullivan, her closeted husband, was hurrying out with more cups when I earned a raised eyebrow from Sibhann by saying I took my tea black and without sugar.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 21
It was dark on Easter Sunday. So dark I would have gone back to sleep had Diva not started barking, wanting to go out for a wee. I grumbled, swearing, getting dressed since I was sleeping in the nip with the warming nights, slipping into a pair of slip-ons and shuffling through the house and to the door. It was only when I opened the front door, with Diva shooting out, parading in a circle, and then piddling on the gravel, that I realised it was still as dark as night during the day. Street lamps still shone in the shadow of the great behemoth, spanning and stretching across the blue sky, eclipsing us in a paradoxical night. The houses were all abandoned as their doors hung open, the last remaining residents standing on the street, gawking up at the mass of fir reaching from horizon to horizon; from East to West. The rippling sea of branches shuddered and moved with a breath of a giant, threatening to give out from its own weight. There was no taper, no convergence of vanishing point; you wouldn't be able to tell if it was one straight body or if it' grew in diameter as it went. It was the mega-tree growing in the centre of the paddock.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 20
We spent the day following a cat. I know that sounds strange, but let's be honest, we passed strange a long time ago. It had been a few weeks since the incident with Declan, the would-be arsonists, and the trees. Already, in the warming April sunshine, tribal lines were divvied up across the village. The hill sat strongly in cult territory, stretching down the Rye Hill and into Ryevale, where I met Shepard in his humble abode. The arsonists claimed everything else from the “Lep”, through Main Street, and up towards Louisa Bridge. This meant the cult had the front entrance to the park, and the arsonists had the back entrance. The park had become their new battlefield.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Fiction