Hugh J. O'Donnell

She told herself she wasn’t a supervillain.
A vigilante, sure. She would accept that. Perhaps she would go so far as a rogue. But she was no villain. She really was something of a hero.
It was true that she had committed acts of violence in revenge. There was no getting around that. And the police were after her. But her mission changed after that. She might be on the wrong side of the law, but she pursued her own justice.
The Lacromista loaded her freeze gun with tears and set out into the night to avenge another broken heart.

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The northern raiders left at dawn to pillage the southern islands. Their boats were crewed by warriors with hearts of steel, and guided by wise men who read the stars and commanded the wind.
The ships returned heavy with gold. They traded it to the traveling merchants, exchanging their plunder for fine swords and good timber to build their boats.
The raiders never wondered where the islanders’ treasure came from. They didn’t consider what the merchants did with the gold when they left.
Five generations of warriors took the same golden necklace before the raiders caught on to the scam.

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After the sea rose and the island sank, a memorial was built to all that was lost beneath the water.
The monument was a recreation of a simple pedestrian crossing. It was erected in what was once the heart of a great city, and children would climb the steps and imagine looking out at a labyrinth of skyscrapers.
It was a bridge to nowhere from nowhere, set in an expanse of empty sea that was as still and clear as glass.
And yet somehow that didn’t prevent boats that were too tall to pass under from getting stuck beneath it.

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The haunted doll had the misfortune of being made in the ‘80s. The other monstrous playthings had real hair with tragic backstories, or porcelain skin fired from graveyard dirt. She had injection molded plastic and a pull string.
While there was something unsettling about her, especially as the years passed and she cracked and faded, she felt like she wasn’t cursing the living to her full potential.
Still, there was always that one person who would see the ring on her back and give it a tug just to see what would happen. Curiosity and Horror went so well together.

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He was the most skilled archer in his unit. He could hit a bullseye with a longbow at a hundred paces. He could shoot a bird out of the sky, and had done so, in the forests he called home.
But here he was, thrown together on the front lines in a battered helmet and a leather jerkin, standing in a line and firing blindly into the opposing army. His talents were going fallow.
He should be sniping enemy knights. He asked his commander for a promotion. The nobleman put him on latrine duty for a month for his impertinence.

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She died young, in a tragic accident. Death took pity, and gave her a choice. She could pass on now, and face whatever came next alone, or she could wait.
She died on the eve of her marriage and was very much in love. The thought of going through eternity alone was anathema to her. She decided to stay.
She spent years alone, chained to her grave, thinking only of her love. But as the decades passed, she started to lose faith. What if they’d moved on?
Finally, they were reunited. Her bride took her hand, and they left together.

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