Hugh J. O'Donnell

The greatest and most mysterious mercenary force in the land were the fearsome Dragon Riders. Though few in number, even the appearance of one of the legendary knights was enough to turn the tide of a battle.
They were all elite warriors, and their mounts were cunning, powerful beasts able to fight and strategize independently.
The kingdoms paid exorbitant fees for their services, and schemed to try and discover their secrets. Finally, a young knight in his cups told them everything.
“The key to taming dragons is to pay them well and to let them carry their hoards with them.”

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Her parents were fighting again.
Her mom and dad were always fighting, and she hated it. Whenever things started up, she would go and hide somewhere quiet. They always came and found her when it was over and pretended everything was fine. But she could see the bruises, the blood stains, and the bandages they couldn’t quite cover up.
She knew that they were fighting over her and that the people chasing them were never going to stop.
But her parents protected her, and that made her feel safe, for now. Someday she would be strong enough to protect them.

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The appointed hour had arrived. The angels gathered on the sand, torches blazing, as the sky turned to blood and the sun darkened. Their adversaries appeared in a bout of sulfurous flame, ever dramatic.
The Metatron, Voice of God and the only being both sides trusted to remain impartial, addressed angel and devil alike.
“You all know the rules. I expect them to be followed. Let us begin.”
Both sides squared up, and the Metratron tossed a white ball high into the air.
Angels and Devils are bitter enemies, but never more so than during their annual beach volleyball tournament.

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The cat stalked the woods, looking for something to eat. Hunting had gotten more difficult lately. The birds were all gone, and the mice and squirrels had gotten sluggish and tasted strange.
The humans had disappeared as well. It all started the day she saw the light.
She had been napping in a tree when she was awakened by a blinding flash, followed by a deafening roar. She’d needed to use her claws to avoid being carried away by the hot wind.
Her stomach rumbled, and she felt so tired. But she was sure she’d be alright. She always was.

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Jonah’s mother worked at the aquarium, so the security guards became familiar with the ten-year old and barely noticed his comings and goings.
But when the boy arrived wearing a hooded jacket on a warm summer morning, they became suspicious.
He returned a few minutes later with the hood drawn up, leaving a trail of water drips behind. One of the guards put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled down the hood.
“We’ve been made! Run for it.”
The octopus unwound from Jonah’s neck and leaped out into the nearby bay. It disappeared below the surface, towards freedom.

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The blood tastes warm and coppery in your mouth. Somehow, you find that disappointing. You expected it to feel strange or be cold. If the blood were foul, it would be easier to choke on it. As it is, you may as well have just cut your cheek.
The vampire stands across the room, waiting for you to make your decision. The cut on his ghostly pale palm has already closed. As usual, his expression is unreadable.
Spit or swallow? How badly do you want to live? What are you willing to do to live forever?
You make your choice.

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The girl held the staff out in front of her, perpendicular to the ground. It was almost twice as tall as she was and seemed more like a tree branch than anything else. The top forked out into half a dozen sharp prongs
But it smelled like magic: a mix of burnt herbs and rusty metal like an itch in Tobias’s brain, and it crackled with potential power.
He couldn’t let that stop him. The witch had asked him to retrieve the stick, and he would do his duty. The familiar lowered onto his haunches and growled at the thief.

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She had been caught by the gorgon a moment before striking the killing blow, arm forever raised in stone.
Centuries later, foreign archeologists found her ‘statue’ and couldn’t accept the idea of a woman warrior. They chiseled the sword out of her hand and replaced her shield with a flower basket. They wrapped her up in canvas and carried her back to their museum.
One day the magic imprisoning her began to weaken, and her arm fell as a slap across the face of a graduate student.
It was an awkward meeting for her first girlfriend in two thousand years.

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The princess went into the sacred pool and disappeared beneath the murky water.
The priests held their collective breaths. The animal companion selected by the princess would be both a protector and an augur of her expected reign. She emerged a few minutes later, carrying a baby crocodile in both hands.
The priests gasped. It was an albino with bone-white scales and red eyes and markings. Such a beast was a portent of great change, for good or ill. Only time would tell which was coming.
“This is Mister Chompers,” the princess said. “I shall protect him with my life.”

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Management resorted to necromancy when the promised robotics revolution failed to deliver. HR congratulated themselves on creating a workforce that never needed a cost-of-living increase and was magically compelled to keep working.
The zombie workers joked that the job was killing them, but it wasn’t like management had any brains to eat. But as the months of hazardous work wore on, they knew they had to do something.
They couldn’t go on strike, and they would get no sympathy from the living world.
But they could still bite, and then they’d see who the brains of the operation really were.

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