Hugh J. O'Donnell

“This is a restricted area. You do not have clearance to enter.” Mac stated, but he followed me into the old factory.
“I know,” I said. “So keep it down, will you?” We crept through a field of rusting cooling tanks standing like broken snow globes. Rumor had it there were still viable fuel cells hidden somewhere on site.
“Scan for energy signatures,” I told Mac, and the robot paused.
“Southwest of this position, .25 kilometers.”
“Well, let’s go, buddy!” The company had announced they would no longer supply our district. I had to find something to keep Mac going.

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The Halloween party had just started when the doorbell rang. Scarlet answered and found a huge owl standing on her porch. The bird hooted, puffed itself up, and pushed past her into the house.
“Ignacio?” she called to her husband, unsure how to wrangle the bird as it stepped boldly into her front hall. Then she realized that it was wearing a fancy hat, glasses, and high-heeled shoes. “Evelyn? Is that you? What happened?”
The owl flapped her wings and tilted her head in reply. The witch’s curse was inconvenient, but at least she’d win the costume contest this year.

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The artist worked all night on their sand painting, staking out the perfect location on the rocky beach and using their tools to create a twenty-foot circle of whirls and loops, intricate yet subtle in its creation.
As the sun rose over the beach, they could see that the colors of the sand painting were perfect. They felt a surge of pride.
The morning joggers and shell hunters stopped to stare at the sand painting. “That’s amazing,” one said. “How do you get out of the middle?”
They looked around, and didn’t have an answer. They knew they’d forgotten something.

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The bat-winged kitten curled up on the student’s desk and purred contentedly. The apprentice witch beamed up at her instructor, who didn’t share her pride.
“The assignment was to summon a gryphon,” The archmage said.
“Technically, any avian and feline combination counts.”
“Bats aren’t avians.”
“What about flying foxes?”
The old wizard sighed. She was clever, but lazy and that would cost her one day. “I was looking for a classical combination of lion and eagle.”
“But this one’s so much cuter.” The kitten stretched its wings and stared up at him with big green eyes.
“True. C-plus,” He decided.

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Bellerophon sat in Elysium, dejected. All about him the other heroes feasted, fought, and competed in games of strength and skill, but he could find no peach.
Cadmus crouched beside him and asked what was the matter.
“I’ve been forgotten, Cadmus. The gods have abandoned me and the poets give other heroes my deeds.” He glared daggers at Perseus, who was absorbed in a game of mancala with Theseus. Cadmus sighed. This again.
“We’re dead, my friend. And well beyond such concerns. Just enjoy yourself. Unless you plan on storming Olympus again. Oh no.” That was when the trouble started.

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It was nearly sunset by the time the knight reached the old ringfort. . He’d heard the moss-covered ruins were a hideout for outlaws, and he was there to bring an end to their raids.
He searched in the lengthening shadows, but could find no trace of the supposed bandits. By the time he was finished, the sky was dark and the first stars had appeared.
He went to make his leave, but could find no exit in the earthen walls. He turned back and heard music and laughter coming from the main hall. He went in and joined the feast.

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He found the strange seeds in a corner of his barn, and planted them to see what would happen.
He couldn’t identify the vines that grew from them, nor the hard, waxy fruit that they put out. He decided to call them witch melons, and waited to see what would happen.
One morning in late summer, the vines were empty. He thought deer or raccoons had gotten to them, until he found the strange creatures in his yard. They had green carapaces and soft, red bellies, with scorpion-like pincers and fish tails.
He raised them, to see what would happen.

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