Hugh J. O'Donnell

I stared at the amber liquid in the bottle. It almost looked like it was pulsing like a heartbeat in the dim lights of the dive bar.
The stranger across from me poured two fingers into a glass and slid it over to me. He smiled menacingly.
I had lost track of how many rounds into the drinking contest we were. I should never have bragged to him that I could drink him under the table. Now the stakes for the wager had gotten out of control.
“What are we drinking?” I asked.
“This is your spirit,” the Devil replied.

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The acolyte sat in meditation, still unsure if he was doing it right, not feeling anything save boredom.
On the Astral Plane, Order and Chaos raised their metaphorical heads. They both sensed the new presence simultaneously, and each raced the other to reach it first and swell their ranks of mystical warriors.
Unable to harm each other directly, the two forces used all their tricks and abilities to convince, cajole, and impress the potential new champion.
Unfortunately, such tactics rely on the receptivity of the host.
The acolyte, unaware of the great battle raging around him, merely had a headache.

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The dragon rampaged through the city. Its long, serpentine body thrashed through the empty streets, crashing into shuttered storefronts and barricaded windows. Its fiery breath left only smoldering wreckage in its wake.
The humans of the city fled before it or hunkered down behind steel and concrete barriers, hoping the destruction would pass them by.
It scoured the town, searching high and low, becoming increasingly frustrated with each abandoned street it traversed.
The dragon knew that somewhere in this maze, there had to be a pharmacy that was still open. Only then would it find relief from its terrible heartburn.

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The greatest and most mysterious mercenary force in the land were the fearsome Dragon Riders. Though few in number, even the appearance of one of the legendary knights was enough to turn the tide of a battle.
They were all elite warriors, and their mounts were cunning, powerful beasts able to fight and strategize independently.
The kingdoms paid exorbitant fees for their services, and schemed to try and discover their secrets. Finally, a young knight in his cups told them everything.
“The key to taming dragons is to pay them well and to let them carry their hoards with them.”

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Her parents were fighting again.
Her mom and dad were always fighting, and she hated it. Whenever things started up, she would go and hide somewhere quiet. They always came and found her when it was over and pretended everything was fine. But she could see the bruises, the blood stains, and the bandages they couldn’t quite cover up.
She knew that they were fighting over her and that the people chasing them were never going to stop.
But her parents protected her, and that made her feel safe, for now. Someday she would be strong enough to protect them.

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The appointed hour had arrived. The angels gathered on the sand, torches blazing, as the sky turned to blood and the sun darkened. Their adversaries appeared in a bout of sulfurous flame, ever dramatic.
The Metatron, Voice of God and the only being both sides trusted to remain impartial, addressed angel and devil alike.
“You all know the rules. I expect them to be followed. Let us begin.”
Both sides squared up, and the Metratron tossed a white ball high into the air.
Angels and Devils are bitter enemies, but never more so than during their annual beach volleyball tournament.

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The cat stalked the woods, looking for something to eat. Hunting had gotten more difficult lately. The birds were all gone, and the mice and squirrels had gotten sluggish and tasted strange.
The humans had disappeared as well. It all started the day she saw the light.
She had been napping in a tree when she was awakened by a blinding flash, followed by a deafening roar. She’d needed to use her claws to avoid being carried away by the hot wind.
Her stomach rumbled, and she felt so tired. But she was sure she’d be alright. She always was.

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Jonah’s mother worked at the aquarium, so the security guards became familiar with the ten-year old and barely noticed his comings and goings.
But when the boy arrived wearing a hooded jacket on a warm summer morning, they became suspicious.
He returned a few minutes later with the hood drawn up, leaving a trail of water drips behind. One of the guards put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pulled down the hood.
“We’ve been made! Run for it.”
The octopus unwound from Jonah’s neck and leaped out into the nearby bay. It disappeared below the surface, towards freedom.

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