Matthew Greene

I'm a writer, marketer, and e-commerce specialist. I manage this website and most of Chimera's digital presence. Fiction and poetry are my dear friends.

Matthew Greene

Call me Matt. Some ten years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no creative writing to my name, and nothing particular to interest me in school, I thought I would scribble a little and see the writerly part of the world…

Okay, I'm no Herman Melville. Not yet, anyway.

Dostoevsky, Joyce, Carver, Faulkner —these are the literary greats that influence my writing every time the pen hits the paper, the fingers punch the keys. 

An excerpt from the short story, "Eschaton"

The man with the papers adjusted his glasses and hairpiece and looked at Chuck, coughing into the space between them, about five feet. “Then what brings you into my office?” the man rasped. “You’re not depressed. You were referred? Who was your last clinician?”

Charlie noticed a dust-glazed frame on the wall. A diploma. The bottom left corner was frayed and hung slightly lower than the right.

“I’m not sure which I should answer first, Dr. Malachi.”

The doctor grinned. His teeth were crowded together like thirty-two lab coats jammed into a two-foot-wide closet. He breathed with apparent difficulty, and Charlie caught a whiff of vinegar. Perhaps red wine vinegar.

“You’ve got roaches in these walls, doctor? I thought I heard…did you hear that?”

“Relax, Chuck. Relax. Shall we get on with it?”

Charlie nodded once, but Dr. Malachi was cleaning his glasses and didn’t see it.


“Oh, yes,” Charlie said. “Fine and ready here.”

Dr. Malachi put his glasses back on and slid them up the ridge of his nose.

“And, uh, about what you asked before…I guess they heard you were the best. No treatment like yours. So, well, here I am.”

“Well then,” said the doctor, unfazed. “How would you describe yourself, Chuck?”

This was routine, this question. “You know, I never really thought about it, doc.”

“One word,” the doctor prodded.

There was a moment of affected brooding. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Charlie said. He paused. “I guess I’m a patient."

Dr. Malachi looked at him over the frames of his glasses.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “I mean I’m patient. A patient kind of person.”

You'll find this story in my chapbook, Patients.

Check it out »