Lennox O'Suilleabhain
Bio
he/they
A new writer seeking an audience for the strange fantasy set in the worlds of Elias.
A former ghost writer wanting to find their own voice.
Inquiries to [email protected]
https://linktr.ee/lennoxosully
Stories (6/0)
"Fallen Flag"
by Lennox Ó'Súilleabháin It was the rattle that first awoke them. A low trundle rocking the fog of sleep from their eyes that brought them into the unnatural light. Their neck was sore, an agony to move side to side to observe their surroundings. They . . . Who were they? Taking in the passing view of trees and meadows through the window they sat next to their mind, muddled and confused, half took in the scenic view. The other half of their mind processed the situation- they were on some sort of train, that much was clear. They were sitting alone in a window seat in an empty aisle. Clutching their biceps, cross armed, they shivered. Each one of their breaths coming out in a cold visible cloud. Their hair, auburn, fell down to their shoulders in organized curls that they pulled at with nervous fingers, unfamiliar with the sensation of their own anatomy. A slender frame wrapped in the fitting form of a tea dress with aqua pattern of gingham. At feet, laced up in flat shoes, was a small leather purse. She figured she was a she, not for the attire, but at the very least it felt right. However, her name eluded focus, its contours fuzzy.
By Lennox O'Suilleabhain2 years ago in Fiction
Camp Cookies
by Lennox Ó'Súilleabháin To say Camp Emerald Bay was beautiful would be an understatement. Idyllic and pristine, isolated in its own bay on the remote Santa Catalina Island, twenty-two miles off the coast of Southern California. The bay for which it was named clear and blue, beautiful both above and below the waves. A colorful array of sea life in its rocky waters. The camp running long into the rivets of the valleys that fed out to the ocean. Far from the orange glow of the Los Angeles sprawl, at night the Camp rested under a vast star cover. It was a place to explore, a place to relax, a place to make lifelong summer memories. This, however, is not about the camp itself. It is about its food.
By Lennox O'Suilleabhain2 years ago in Feast
"Going Down"
by Lennox O'Súilleabháin There was no glamour or nobility in suffering together. She’d repeated the mantra coming into work. Another memo was on her desk by the time she arrived that morning. It had been waiting for her there, the fourth that week “requesting” her “attention on the matter of the elevator”. With each subsequent memo the threats from management had grown more dire.
By Lennox O'Suilleabhain2 years ago in Fiction
