Hugh J. O'Donnell

The dragon breathed fire and soared on thermals. It dove from high cliffs and glided on wings that would not otherwise support its weight, sending out flame as it approached the ground and rising on the hot air.
It also found that the fires were a great way to flush out prey from hiding. All it had to do was dive and pick up a fleeing deer, then rise again on the hot air. A perfect system.
The dragon traveled constantly, making a huge, burnt out loop to mark its territory. It never understood why the knights hunted it, though.

“Greece Forest Fire July 25 2007” by Carl Osbourn is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The mist hung over the lake, calm and beautiful in the dawn. The water looked blue and peaceful in the rising sun. It was the dawn of another perfect day.
Underneath the surface, in the ruins that had once been homes, towns, cemeteries, the dead waited in the black water.
The lake had been a valley, flooded to create a reservoir to feed the big city a few miles away. And of course, it served as a resort for the rich and powerful.
They didn’t think about the ghosts they’d made. But all things that sink will one day rise.

“Paulina Lake at Sunset, Oregon” by Bonnie Moreland (free images) is marked with Public Domain Mark 1.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

When the gods die, they become voices on the wind. Pan became music.
Most people hardly notice the song, but you hear it clearly: Mournful yet compelling notes calling you deeper into the forest.
You follow the music to a glade where Pan, the last of Chaos’s Children sits playing in the sun. You lay down on the grass to listen to the songs until eventually you fall asleep.
When you awaken, you are alone, and the sun is almost down. You must’ve dreamed it, you think, until you look down and find the wooden flute cradled in your hand.

“LEYENDECKER, J. C. (Joseph Christian, 1874-1951). 🇺🇸 Saturday Evening Post, Spring [satyr], June 2, 1928.” by Halloween HJB is marked with CC0 1.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

He wouldn’t have called it a proper pack. The other monsters were monstrous all the time, but he had to make do with claws and superhuman senses in short bursts.
The vampire was okay, if a bit of a snob, and he liked the gillman, even though he was very introverted. He just hated the nickname they gave him.
When you were in a pack, it didn’t matter much where you were going. You just had to follow the tail of the person in front of you.
But the other monsters made fun of the werewolf’s bad sense of direction.

“Wolf” by Michelleyyy is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

When they besieged his family’s compound, his father gave him their ancestral sword and told him to run. The last he saw of his parents was them drawing blades the hidden passage closed behind him.
His family had allies who kept him secret, raising him as a vassal in the hopes that one day his return would benefit them. The sword had its own plans as well. It whispered to him at night, demanding he take revenge.
The boy trained hard knowing one day he would need to chose between carving out a new future and avenging his family’s loss.

“File:Japanese katana with horimono (blade carving).jpg” by ElPablo is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

It was a cliché, but he died onstage. His heart gave out when his set was just heating up. He struggled to breathe, the stool fell from under him, and that was it. The only bright light he ever saw was the spotlight.
He was still at the comedy club after they rushed out his body. The little stage was the only place where he had really felt alive. Why should he spend the afterlife anywhere else?
He was still working out how to communicate, but was already working on a new set. He was going to knock ‘em dead.

“Comedy Club Sofia” by Petyabogdanova is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The wyvern hung in the air, suspended on the updraft of its own fiery breath. Wyverns weren’t accounted as intelligent as their grander dragon cousins, but they still possessed a level of animal cunning.
It spotted the flash of sunlight on maile and dove like an eagle catching a salmon. The knight barely had time to raise his shield before it wrapped its tail around his waist and carried him into the air on a gout of flame.
When the knights came, they disrupted the delicate balance of the magical ecosystem. But something always rushes in to fill a niche.

“Wyvern of Wessex” is licensed under CC BY 3.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The sniper lived his life from the end of the barrel of his rifle. He never got closer than a half a mile to his targets, and he limited his outside contacts.
But he felt increasingly disconnected from the rest of the world.. He met his targets in the dossiers he received, and he packed up his rifle and disappeared as soon as they were down. Even his assignments and pay were delivered discreetly and anonymously.
He felt truly isolated, but assumed it was for his safety. Until the day he felt the sights of another’s gun trained on him.

“Pictured is a sniper from 34 Squadron, The Royal Air Force Regiment” by Defence Images is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

His stall was just off the main thoroughfare in the abandoned space station, selling junk and spare parts to whomever passed through.
A big corporate had build this station, a temple to its own hubris, a century ago.
But the corps expanded too fast, and turned on each other to try and make quick profits. Now there was just a network of silent stations orbiting abandoned colonies.
But now explorers were getting themselves off world again, and they’d need support. If he was savvy, his children or grandchildren would be the next corp leaders. He just had to dream big.

“Hubble Sees an Aging Star Wave Goodbye” by NASA Goddard Photo and Video is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

When he did not have pressing work, the wizard would go to the Ancient Library to study. The institution was filled with lost secrets and forgotten lore that the staff could barely manage, much less catalog.
He wandered the dusty corridors seeking out ancient prophecies of destruction and predictions of the end of the world. He wanted to separate the true portents from the false ones, and prevent what he could.
Whenever he was gone too long, his apprentice would come find him. Even though she was studying under him, she always had to tell him to stop doom scrolling.

“One New York Public Library lion” by 4nitsirk is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0