Author Archives: Matthew. S. Wilson

I’d never imagined living in an attic. Frank was the only one to come up here – twice a year to fetch and return the Christmas lights. Like everything else, he stopped doing that the year I died. Frank simply sunk deeper into his couch, unable to hear or see me, irrespective of how manyContinue reading “Wallflower.”

‘Coming, Tim?’ I logged off and followed my colleagues out of the office; attending company social events inadvertently influenced our bonuses. The downstairs function room of the nearby pub reeked of beer and despair; like a fallen tree, its scratched tables could be aged by the rings staining their surfaces. The only person happy toContinue reading “Woozy Bankers.”