Hugh J. O'Donnell

On Christmas morning, Monica’s new pet was cute. It pounced on the discarded wrapping and took scraps from her plate. She named him Prancer.
As the months went by, they were inseparable. Monica taught Prancer tricks, and it slept at the foot of her bed. She took great care of her new friend. Her parents were pleased that she had learned to be so responsible.
But as Prancer continued to grow, it became apparent that it didn’t have enough space, and her parents steeled themselves for a difficult conversation.
A dragon isn’t just for Christmas but a pet for life.

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The folded, printed letter had been slipped into the mailbox of the old house on the hill. The occupants gathered round to read it.
“Congratulations!” The eldest of them read in a voice like steel scraping over stone. “Your house has won this year’s Scrooge Award for the fewest decorations!!!”
The ghosts all looked at one another. No living soul had lived there for a long time, and time is so much harder to track once you’ve passed on.
But they all knew what spirits were supposed to do on Christmas. The sender was about to have a magical evening.

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“I can’t bear to lose you,” I said, squeezing my husband’s hand as the technicians swarmed around his hospital bed.
“I’m just taking the first steps, love. Come find me after,” he said.
They ushered me out of the room and began digitizing his brain.
Afterward, I sat with the interface for days. I tried to reconnect with him, but it was just data: questions and answers. The experiment was a success, yet I couldn’t find my husband in that gray box.
Now, decades later, I am undergoing the procedure to keep my last promise to follow and find him.

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He was a brilliant scientist. His insights into physics reshaped how we view the universe. The technology he helped to develop allowed us to travel the vast gulf of space in the blink of an eye.Unfortunately, he wasn’t without his flaws. Like many great minds, he took advantage of his status to misbehave.The university hushed up a string of complaints from his pretty young interns and even let him get away with lighting up a pipe in his lectures.It was a tragedy that he died so young of lung cancer. Imagine what else he could have accomplished.

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We all came outside to see the captured giant when they brought him to the fort. He stood almost thirty feet high, and his head was flush with the guard tower.
They had shackled his arms and legs with thick chains, and he wore a battered helmet. Otherwise, he wore rags. He barely had a tattered loincloth and leg wraps to keep out winter’s chill.
The company rejoiced. The giant had been raiding farms throughout the hills for months.
But I was moved to pity. As soon as I saw him I knew I had to set the giant free.

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The teens had a hidden nest in the maze of fake houses behind the airbase. The buildings were from the Cold War. But now they were abandoned, half-buried out in the desert.
Gina had swiped a box of wine from her mom, and they’d driven up in Tommy’s dad’s truck. They were relieved to be away from the world for a few hours. Their place was a refuge from the pressures of the outside world and the news.
If another war came, they would at least have today.
They didn’t hear the bomb test siren until it was too late.

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The man read over the bill he received in the mail and saw red. He didn’t understand any of the legal nonsense in the letter, but he wouldn’t pay anyone a dime.
He was going to give this FeyCo a piece of his mind. He angrily punched in the customer service number.
“Good morning, this is Blossom,” A sweet, practiced soprano said. “May I have your name please?”
“Yeah, this is Douglas Jones-“
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the fairy disconnected the call and made a little mark in her book.
“Lord,” she chuckled. “What fools these mortals be.”

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A cherry tree appeared overnight, growing to full height in the middle of an intersection while the city slept. It pushed up through asphalt and concrete, reaching for a sky blanketed by smog.
That morning, everyone came out to marvel at the tree shedding pink blossoms and covering the hot garbage smell of the city with its sweet scent.
The city sent out a crew to chop it down. They were met by a sea of angry picnickers.
“It’s just a tree,” The kitsune said.
“And look how they defend it,” the tanuki replied. “Which neighborhood should we do next?”

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He was working on one of the massive electrical towers south of the city when the northern hills erupted.
He heard the explosion echo across the valley and smelled the sulfur as lava and ash rained on the city.
He got on his radio and got to work.
Everyone has a story from the day of the eruption. The survivors remember the loved ones that they lost. They remember their narrow escapes and rescues. But nobody mentions him.
People take it for granted that the grid never went down during the catastrophe.
But he remembers why, and that is enough.

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