Hugh J. O'Donnell

When the monsters came, every able-bodied townsperson went out to fight. The children and the elderly took shelter inside the cathedral, and the old monk was among them. He sat among what they could rescue from the monastery library and did his best to keep the urchins from touching the valuable books, grumbling all the while.
Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting roar, and the whole building shook. The monk smelled brimstone. The children wailed in terror.
He sighed. “Who wants to hear a story?”
The library was their history, but the children were their future, and he would protect both.

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The monk waited for me at the top of the temple steps. Built into the side of the canyon, they led to a viewing platform that overlooked the waterfall.
A pair of guardian statues flanked the top, patched with patina. They stood on masses of old pipes that seemed to write like serpents beneath their heels.
“There used to be a massive factory here,” he said. “It diverted the falls for power and dumped waste into the river below. We kept the pipes as a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“That it is never too late to change one’s ways.”

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The Witch of Winter went about her work, chilling the forest and frosting the bare trees. She summoned icy wind and glittering snow. The Autumnal Fairies had done their work, and the blazing red leaves crunched under her feet as she walked, bringing their reign to a close.
Every year the work was more difficult. Winter was just a little farther away as the humans believed more in their hot, noisy machines and less in magic. The forest was more resistant to her touch.
But she continued, undaunted. Nature required balance, and she would demonstrate in brilliant silver and white.

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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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