Hugh J. O'Donnell

Last night, the girl wrote her phone number on a napkin and stuffed it brazenly into his pants pocket before sauntering out of the bar. He couldn’t remember the reason she couldn’t just text it to him , but it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and he hadn’t been complaining.
In the piercing light of day, he waited for his hangover to pass enough to read it. He spread the cheap paper out on the bedside table.
‘I poisoned your drink. Call this number within twelve hours if you want to live.’
He sighed. Every damn time.

“Abstract White Crumpled Napkin Folds Pattern” by shaire productions is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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

When the cadre of Orks escaped the front line, they stole a boat and sailed until they found a place that had never heard of the Dark Lord.
They set down their pikes and clubs and made a new life for themselves. It was Shorty who suggested they open up a restaurant.
They hadn’t seen much cuisine in their time fighting, but they made up for their inexperience with enthusiasm and brotherhood.
When Ripper hung the sign and they opened the doors, they stood looking into an uncertain future. But if nothing else, meat would always be on the menu.

Image by Thew Adams.

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

Through everything, he maintained his garden. In the winter, while the election results were coming in, he ordered seeds.
In spring, during the early days of the regime’s expansion, he planted. His neighbors asked how he would fight.
In summer, during the protests, he watered and weeded. His neighbors asked why he wasn’t out protesting with them.
In autumn, when the crackdowns started, he harvested vegetables. He stored what would keep and canned the rest. His neighbors hid in their basement.
The next winter, when the store shelves were bare, he shared with his neighbors so they could keep fighting.

“garden” by drewfish is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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

The astronaut stood at the top of the ladder, waiting for clearance to descend to the lunar surface. He thought about the significance of humanity’s return to The Moon, and the way history moved in cycles like an orbit.
He placed his boots on the rock in reverent silence for those explorers who came before.
The astronaut bounded across the surface, heading toward an unusual iron deposit. He stopped in front of the anomaly his mouth going dry. Capcom shouted in his ear, demanding visual confirmation.
Arthur reached out a bulky white glove to pull the sword from the regolith.

“moon” by Slideshow Bruce is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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

For his crimes against Olympus, Zeus decreed that Sisyphus would spend eternity pushing a boulder uphill, never resting. The other gods agreed it was a just punishment, and promptly forgot about the mortal.
But as the centuries passed, Hades found that he had to bring in larger and larger boulders as the mortal gained strength from pushing constantly pushing the stone uphill.
The god of the underworld sent messages up to his siblings on Mount Olympus, but the scrolls went unread.
Until one day, the Palace of the Gods shook as Sisyphus put his shoulder against the mountain and pushed.

“Perfect Balance Boulder, California Desert” by moonjazz is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

April floated in the ship’s tiny kitchen/science station, staring intently at the double-hulled safety oven. It had taken her an hour of prep work to wrestle the pie into shape before snapping down the metal lid, chasing a few stray blueberries that managed to float out of the pastry case.
She should’ve waited until they were under station gravity to bake, but after Xlarx had said that Earth didn’t make anything edible, she was going to make him eat his words.
April’s grandfather said love was his secret ingredient, but she found that in a pinch, spite would substitute.

“Pie!” by mazaletel is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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

The old woman sits at the window. She’s lived in this building for decades, watching the neighborhood decay under the neglect of landlord wringing every dime they could from the place. But it is home.
Now they are going to tear it all down to make a parking lot. She watches as the big yellow demolition trucks came up the road, the last of the vultures.
She tests the chain wound around her legs. It’s good and secure.
She has sat at this window for half her life, and she’ll be damned if they are going to move her now.

“Construction Machinery” by Klearchos Kapoutsis is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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

The commander got the magic sword for cheap. Its spell drew down lightning each time it was drawn, but the enchantment was poorly cast. Sheathing the blade was the only way to stop the effect.
Flashy but impractical, he used it to inspire the troops, calling a bolt as the finale of his most rousing speeches.
It proved very effective until the day a grunt assigned to clean his tent accidentally knocked the blade out of its stand and sent it flying.
The resulting fires and damage nearly bankrupted the company, but he sold the sword to offset the costs.

“Ka-boom (lightning)” by Leszek.Leszczynski is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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