Dylan O'Shell
Bio
Endeavoring to tell stories that capture what life is about, and have fun while I’m doing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!
Stories (3)
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The Homecoming
Their fangs dripped as they picked up the dragon-babe, staining the caretaker's white scales. After so long, a new dragon birthed, only to be ripped away by these usurpers, the drake groaned inwardly as they receded into the wild. He lay wounded and bleeding on the forest floor. As he spoke the ancient summons, he fell into a deep trance, hoping they were uttered in time for any in the old alliance to hear.
By Dylan O'Shell3 years ago in Fiction
Ozymandium
I can still remember a time when we were content. Though I’m not as young as I once was, my memory remains tragically sharp. When we were more hopeful—some would say naïve—Foster and I came to New Sacramento. Our dirge brought us to the center of recollected civilization, the jewel of the sunset isles. This jeremiad begins and ends in what my ancestors used to call the Golden State. I urge you not to handle this telling with kid gloves, but with gauntlets. I caution you not wander idly into the past. It’s a mirage, promising the world and robbing the present. And like Narcissus you’ll end up trapped in longing, gazing into nothing.
By Dylan O'Shell5 years ago in Fiction
Give and Take
Charlie Desmond was a cautious kid when I met him. Unlike most of our friends, he was average looking, shy, and reserved. We grew close over the course of middle school, and played high school football together. He was the grateful tagalong, the stereotypical wall flower of our friend group. When most of us moved on to Oregon State, I figured Charlie would remain our quiet, considerate, and docile compatriot. I really wish it stayed that way. Most of the other guys didn’t pay Charlie much attention, he didn’t stand out enough to attract much ire or praise. I always liked him though; his lack of audacity was refreshing in a clamoring and busy world like ours. I imagine in retrospect he felt invisible, passed over by potential lovers, left out of inner circles, and under appreciated by coaches, teachers, and friends alike. I’m not blameless in all this. I guess I’m writing this more to relieve myself of the burden than to convince you it’s real. I don’t care if anyone believes me, I just wish I could go back. I wish I could help him. It’s my confession of sorts.
By Dylan O'Shell5 years ago in Humans
