Hugh J. O'Donnell

“And let’s stretch with your body…” The Yoga instructor said, leaning impossibly forward. “And hold.”
In the front row, the little slime did their best. They were good at stretching, but holding the pose was alway so difficult. There was an embarrassing dripping noise, followed by a splash.
“Let’s take five, everyone.” As the class shuffled out, the beholder bobbed over to the slime.
“Everybody saw that, you know.”
They burbled out a dejected sigh. “I know the Dark Lord wants us in shape when the heroes arrive, but why did he put the mimic in charge of yoga class?”

We sat on the beach and watched the clouds roll in. The setting sun painted the towering shapes pastel pink and purple.
“My grandmother used to take me to the beach as a girl.” My mother said. “On evenings like this we’d watch the clouds and try to spy giants walking on the horizon.”
I scoffed. I was too old to believe in fairy tales. But then I heard booming footsteps, and we saw a towering shape emerge. He peered down at us.
“Excuse me,” he said in a booming voice. “Can you direct me to the ice cream stand?”

The Year 13 Billion Angelic Reunion was off to a rocky start. Things were going alright until the devils showed up, being loud and destructive and just generally unpleasant.
The Ishim, in the floor seats, saw them first, and nearly stampeded. Michael and Gabriel had their flaming swords out at the first moment, but Lucifer merely smiled and held up an envelope.
“We were invited,” he insisted. All eyes, even the Ophamnins’, turned to Uriel, the event coordinator.
“They were once angels,” they insisted. Only the quick intervention of Samael and Sandalphon dividing the room in two prevented a brawl.

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“It’s coming,” the barbarian said, his back bracing against the door. On the other side of the heavy oak, thundering footsteps were approaching fast. The wizard raised her staff. The tip flared searing white in preparation as the thief and cleric dived under a table.
I heard a great snuffling and sniffing, followed by an earsplitting roar.
“Listen up, bard.” The barbarian said, glaring dangers at me. “You’re the one that recruited the dragon into the party, so you have to be the one to explain why it can’t follow us to the tavern. We’re barely welcome as it is!”

As the quarantine spread through the city, the vampire watched, and he waited. He didn’t understand the reports, something about a virus. Germ theory was after his time and he refused to truck with any such modern notions. But he knew a plague year when he saw one.
He’d eaten well, during the plagues. It was harder now. People were being careful, they were staying out of public spaces where he could reach them. But he had new methods.
He rang the doorbell in front of the house. “Hello? This is Vladimir from Quick Bites? I have your food delivery!”

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Every morning before dawn, she went out and collected swords. She had to be careful, and she had to be quick. At first light all the warriors rose to begin their battle anew.
They spent the nights feasting and drinking, and she was obliged to serve them. She only had a few minutes each day to sneak away and collect her treasures.
Every new moon, the ironmonger would come and buy what she had pilfered, paying her a pittance. She hoarded her iron and her gold, and dreamed of the day when she would finally make enough to escape Ragnarok.

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