D. L. Lewellyn
Bio
I enjoy life and writing from my high desert valley on the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. There is nothing better than these stunning backdrops for creating fantasy worlds and inspiring the diverse characters in my fiction.
Stories (7)
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A Pineapple Ride to Anywhere
Carter passed the binoculars to his brother as they leaned against the railing at the top of the giant pineapple. The fiberglass fruit hadn’t started life as a houseboat, but it made a damn good one once it was swept into the sea by the tsunami that wiped out eastern Queensland. Before that, it served for decades as a popular photo op entrance to a zoo.
By D. L. Lewellyn2 years ago in Fiction
The Passengers
The Ferryman guided the gondola along a watery path only he knew the secrets to as it transported a half dozen specially chosen masked passengers to an exclusive event. Though each eyed him with suspicion, they appeared confident he would get them to their destination. They had to believe that because he was their only means of travel.
By D. L. Lewellyn3 years ago in Fiction
The Oscarsons
The day had been excessively long, and it was nearing the time when the family would appear one by one from wherever it was they went outside of the Oscarson’s frame of reference, which included a large portion of the living space from their well-appointed fifty-gallon aquarium in the foyer.
By D. L. Lewellyn3 years ago in Fiction
The Guardian
Mareduke’s bloody, scaled head froze mid-dip. He reeled his tongue back into his mouth and stared at the child across the water. A long, cool drink was critical to his state of near-death, but he gave it up to inspect the reflection cast into the mountain lake by the tiny person on the grassy ledge.
By D. L. Lewellyn3 years ago in Fiction
Words Through a Vent
If Lauren hadn’t gone back for her comb, her world would still be vertical, not slanting horribly sideways. She clutched at the door of the stall with a shaky hand and held her stomach with the other, hoping to keep down the bile trying to explode to the surface. The only thing stopping her from giving into the tilt and collapsing on the public toilet floor was the realization she would hit the public toilet first. Someone had neglected to flush it.
By D. L. Lewellyn3 years ago in Fiction
A Message in the Clouds
I floated a thousand feet over the Point Breeze Gas Works. From this vantage, one could imagine it was a gothic cathedral, complete with crenelated turrets, sprawling majestically along the Schuylkill River. The industry below, illustrated by billowing towers of black smoke, was muted in absolute silence from this height, adding to the impression of divine tranquility.
By D. L. Lewellyn3 years ago in Fiction
