Hugh J. O'Donnell

The light is already fading when her father arrives to take her home. The snow crunches under their boots, and they navigate the village road by the light of the incubation pods that line the road.
When her father was her age, these were cornfields, but nothing grows in the Earth anymore.
She runs up to one of the pods and rubs at the glass, curious about what’s inside. Her father takes her hand and tells her not to dawdle.
Most of these pods contain crops, but he isn’t ready for her to see the pod she was birthed in.

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My gym had just reopened, but I was already dealing with a bunch of problem guests. Now, I understand that lots of people got used to working out in their own spaces, but these guys were the worst. They were noisy, they didn’t clean up after themselves, they hogged the equipment, and they STANK.
I found the group’s apparent leader, a surprisingly scrawny guy, on the lifting bench, stepped around his groaning spotter, and took him aside.
I’m afraid you and your friend need to leave,” I said.
The necromancer looked at me with an expression that could’ve peeled paint.

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The adventurer entered the final chamber of the tomb. This was it, the resting place of the legendary sword Heartpiercer.
She pushed with all her might and heaved the lid of the sarcophagus aside. The longsword was there, unsheathed and gleaming in the torchlight. She wrenched it from the skeleton’s grip and just beheld it for a moment.
The blade was still sharp, untouched by the ravages of time. This would surely turn the tide in the battle to come.
Behind her, the tomb guardian slid downward on silent, silken threads, preparing to dispatch another thief plundering the ancient catacomb.

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When the superhero lost his powers, he went to see his doctor.
“Your powers will return in time,” she reassured him.
“How soon”
The doctor shrugged. “Maybe four weeks? Why not take a holiday?
He took her advice, and jetted off to a tropical island.
But he was back in her office less than a week later, convinced he was dying.
“It’s just a sunburn,” she said. “Rub some calamine lotion on the burn and remember to wear a hat.”
“But my powers come from sunlight,” he said.
The hero’s powers came back, but he never got over the betrayal.

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His parents were murdered when he was a child, and the case was never solved.
Bereft, he made a vow to avenge their deaths. He was eight years old.
He dedicated his life to this single goal. He trained physically and mentally. He traveled the world, learning everything he could.
As a child, he’d believed their deaths to be a part of some grand conspiracy. In reality, it was just a crime of opportunity that went wrong. The systems that had set up the tragedy couldn’t be fought with fists.
But he’d made a vow, and would see it through.

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It never snowed in the city, but it had started an hour ago. The temperature had plunged, and the misty rain had frozen first into globs of wet slush, then into solid, fat snowflakes, the kind you see digitally added to Christmas specials.
He stood on the roof and watched it fall. The grime of the city was already disappearing beneath clean, white snow. The weather machine next to him was still operating at capacity.
Far below, tires squealed and metal scraped as overconfident drivers confronted their new reality.
The city was paralyzed. Phase one of the plan was complete.

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Every year, the islanders chose a maiden as the Seabride.
When I was chosen, I accepted the duty stoically. I didn’t want to be sacrificed, but it was a great honor. And had I refused, my family would have become outcasts. So I let them dress me in the veils and place me on the rock, and I waited for the inevitable.
A few hours later, a strange craft, round as a barrel, rose to the surface. A hatch opened, and I could see women inside. They all were the previous Seabrides.
“Get in loser,” one said. “We’re going home.”

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The fisherman rowed out to the little island, looking for a good place to cast his line. He was on vacation, and the little island, which he couldn’t find on the useless chart they’d given him at the tourist office, seemed perfect.
He left his boat on the shore and climbed up a verdant outcropping of round stone overlooking the bay. It was perfect.
When it started moving, he thought it was an earthquake. Then a massive head rose from the sand and looked at him. Before he could close his tackle box the giant turtle leaped into the sea.

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“Young lady, you will put your mask on this instant,” Mother said from the front seat. I could tell by her voice how angry she was.
Father turned around and looked at me.
“Honey, you know we need to wear them for protection, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” I sighed, and slipped the mask down over my face.
“That’s my girl. Now you stay here and keep the car running.”
My parents got out and went into the bank. I moved to the front seat and played with the radio. I always hated it when they brought me on their robberies.

The Half-Orc burst through the tavern door with a huge guitar slung over one shoulder.
“You play that thing or hit people with it?” The bartender asked.
“I’ve only ever needed to hit someone with it once,” she said with a laugh. “I’m Harmony Brokenstaff, and I’m a wandering bard like my father.
“You’re old Brokenstaff’s daughter? I heard he had been lost in the steppes.”
“In a way. He got a chieftain’s daughter in trouble and settled down. My sister Mel and I were born nine months later.”
“And Mel as in…?”
“Me’lnikroth the Defiler. She takes after Mom.”

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