Hugh J. O'Donnell

The dragons circled the castle, cawing challenges and flying ever closer with each pass. They swooped and dove, the women crowding every window shrieking every time they got close.
The Princess stood atop the tower, hair streaming in the wind. She whistled, high and sharp, and jumped. The leader, a massive creature with iridescent red scales, peeled away dived after her. She landed perfectly in the saddle and took up the reins. They s soared high and away to a chorus of cheers. The young dragons followed them back to the stables. Roostlings were always frisky after their first flight.

It was supposed to be a harmless teenage prank. Break into the abandoned church and nick something. He expected her to return with a rusty candlestick or rain-soaked hymnal. If she didn’t chicken out. He hadn’t expected her to creep out of the ruined abbey dragging a four-foot long sword behind her.
“Where’d you find that?” He really hadn’t expected her to stare at him, then raise the blade like it was weightless.
“I was chosen,” she said. Then her expression hardened. “And I can see what you truly are.”
“Oh,” he said, scrambling away from her. “Hell.”

“Where are the flowers?” I looked up from the painting.
“They’re on the table.” I said, gesturing to the bouquet.
“But you haven’t included them. And the vase is wrong. That looks like a perfume bottle!”
“I can’t draw what’s really there,”I said. “Have you ever heard the idea that taking a picture captures your soul?”
“What nonsense.”
“Inauspiciously worded wish. Now I can’t paint anything alive without capturing it.”
“That’s bullshi….”
I finished adding the tiny figure inside the jar. It was a fairly good likeness of him.
“See what I mean?” I asked, but he was gone.