Hugh J. O'Donnell

The snow came early and thick that year. The almanac had promised a mild season, but the weather was particularly harsh, almost in defiance of prediction.
When the storm broke, he went out hunting with the dogs. They would need extra supplies and get them through what promised to be a long and bitter winter.
He wondered at the strangeness of the weather as he climbed the ridge and saw the Frost Giants. They were gathered in the clearing, working a ritual beyond his ken. He supposed some things had a rational explanation after all as he leveled his rifle.

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He heard the rumbling thunder of the giant machine’s footsteps in the snow long before he saw the Walker coming up the hill behind him. He kept a firm grip on his reindeer’s lead as the iron behemoth passed by.
It was a transport model, practically a boat crawling along on four titanic metal legs. A single scout stood on deck, but there were more soldiers inside. They’d occupied the region for years, from their hidden base in the mountains.
But if he could get this reindeer home, and decode the message it carried, that could all change by spring.

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She works on the car every day after school. She squeezes in as much time as she can with it between part-time jobs and studying for exams.
She is building it herself, based on schematics she found online. She ordered the parts, and installed them. The car is her baby.
At night, she drops to sleep exhausted, with oil and ink stains under her fingernails. She dreams of headlights in the dark, and roaring engines. She longs to race down mountain roads, drifting in impossible curves.
At last, the car is finished. Now all she needs is her learner’s permit.

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Ever since I was a child, I wanted to break the altitude record for ground-launched aircraft. Unbroken for decades due to a technicality, the record tantalized me.
I flew and studied for years in pursuit of my goal. Finally, accompanied by an AIF observer in a plane I designed myself, I left the airfield.
We spotted the UFO at about 125,000 feet. It flew above us, matching my course and speed. Afterwards, the strange pilot made first contact. My achievement was overshadowed by that historic event.
But the alien craft wasn’t carrying an official observer, so I got the record.

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“We’re contracting out this year,” The elf said, leaning their long and angular frame down to peer at the two gnomes.
“Contracting out? I don’t understand,” one of the pair said.
The elf sighed. “It has been a difficult year. The Big Guy needs a bit of help with deliveries.”
“Does he?” The other asked.
“Belief is somewhat thin this year. We were hoping to borrow some power from the Deep Places,” the elf admitted.
A gnome grinned wolfishly. “Were you now? And what have you brought to bargain?” The elf reached into their sack, hoping for a Christmas Miracle.

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He dreamed of the future. He imagined a sky full of jetpacks and flying cars. He pictured each star crowded with gleaming space colonies, the void between them plied by ships full of utopian heroes.
One day he got up and found himself in the wrong future. His vision had been replaced by a maze of dark alleys ruled by sinister megacorporations in high-speed sunglasses. He raged against the unfairness of it all.
A small hand rested on his shoulder. He looked into his daughter’s eyes and realized you don’t dream the future. You build it. He got to work.

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He always carried a hatchet on his belt, prominently displayed. He had a lot of problems in public, but he insisted it was a tool and nothing more. He had to get an open carry license, even though he didn’t own a gun, just the chopper.
He only used it once, opening the locked door of a public restroom where a man was having a heart attack.
His wife hugged him as they carried the man out. “He would’ve died if you hadn’t had that weapon on you.”
“It’s not a weapon,” he replied. “It’s my small axe of kindness.”

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