Hugh J. O'Donnell

She woke up laying on the wall. Always a heavy sleeper, she hadn’t noticed the shift, and fumbled with her comforter in confusion.
Had something tipped the house over, she wondered. Nothing seemed out of place, except for her.
She carefully made her way over to the door and dropped into the hallway. When she finally managed to crawl her way to the living room, she took a look outside through the picture window.
The view outside was normal. Only her orientation and gravity had changed.
She paced the walls and climbed the floors, unsure of what to do next.

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He was a demon of small things, a little god of petty aggravations. He blew out candles, spoiled milk, and broke horseshoes. All the little things that nudged humans slowly out of the light and into the darkness.
He never got any credit. A bigger demon would inevitably swoop in and corrupt the souls he set on edge.
He didn’t mind, though. As human technology improved, it just got smaller, and fell further in his domain. Now he blew spark plugs, cracked phone screens, and erased hard drives. The greater demons didn’t understand, but soon it would be his time.

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One day he found a red lily on his doorstep.
There was no note, and no hint of where it had come from. He shrugged and brought it inside.
More flowers followed. Finally, he waited at home and caught a raven leaving them. It cawed up at him and then turned away, as though embarrassed. He looked up the behavior and found it was a courtship ritual.
The butcher never figured out why the bird had imprinted on him, but he put a cage for it in the corner of his shop, and they were both happy with the arrangement.

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She’d worn the mask for a festival. It was a beautiful piece, with bright paint and lapis lazuli eyes, and she’d felt like a goddess wearing it. But when the festival was over, she hung it on the wall and returned to her everyday life.
It was a few days before the mask spoke to her with the goddess’s voice. The goddess doled out blessing and duties to the woman, who was unsure of herself, but dared not refuse the calling.
She danced on the temple steps and took off her mask, but the goddess was not finished wearing her.

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The man stared at his phone in consternation, swiping at a 3D map of the hollowed out asteroid back and forth with jagged swipes of his fingers.
“Where are you trying to go?” I asked.
“St. Dominic’s Cathedral,” he said.
“You can’t get there from here.”
“Why not?” He asked. I pointed upwards. The tips of the cathedral’s grand spires pointed down at us from the the ceiling of the mile-wide chamber carved into the rock.
“Oh, thanks,” He said. He stepped out into the square and ignited his jetpack, scattering trash everywhere.
“Tourists,” I muttered, cleaning up the debris.

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A few gathered in the square early, setting up tables and chairs with space for everyone in the colony. They piled them with food and treats, all the things they had forgone in the hard months before.
Finally, the rest of the colonists arrived. Some of them prayed together, others reminisced about the long year together. Children played tag on the green.
Finally, they all took their seats and watched the Earth drift into orbit above them.
It had been a year of hard work and sacrifice, but the space colony was finally self-sufficient. They were going to make it.

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“What is the meaning of this?” the general asked. The scientist deflated a bit as he showed him the prototype.
“Well, you know how we were using pigeons to send messages, and you said that was too slow? I’ve found a solution to speed up the process.”
“By giving the birds little jetpacks?”
“They picked up on the technology surprisingly quickly, although we did have some problems miniaturizing it. They can deliver messages three times faster now!”
“I meant, we should switch to radios!”
“I mean, we could, but I don’t know how we’d train the pigeons to use them.”

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