Hugh J. O'Donnell

After his father died, the boy took up his sword. His father hadn’t been a knight or a soldier, and he’d barely ever left their little village. But he practiced every day, before he became ill.
His mother watched him training and worried about him. As he grew up, she encouraged him to apply for a job as a guard at the castle. The boy resisted her. He didn’t want to stand around all day.
His father had carried a sword for protection, but he’d never seen the world. He would take his father’s sword with him on his adventure.

“Sword, reconstruction” by The Swedish History Museum, Stockholm is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The rare breed of turtle was known for its longevity. The shells of the creature were highly prized as charms and in elixirs. The species was hunted to sate the hunger for the market. The turtles disappeared, and were thought to be extinct.
When the turtles returned, people called it a miracle and the species was protected.
Humanity never cracked the secret to the turtles’ longevity. Not merely long-lived, they had power over the flow of time.
They buried themselves in the mud and slowed their lives to a crawl, waiting for the day when the predation would be over.

“Juvenile Green Sea Turtle” by prilfish is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

She remembers fireworks on Liberation Day. They lit up the night and blotted out the stars. And ever since that day, she grew up free.
But it was too much to hope for that their distant little world would escape the Empire’s notice. It took their fleet years to get here, but they came with enough firepower to obliterate the colony as an example for the other protectorates.
She straps into the cockpit of her straighter knowing their little fleet doesn’t have a chance. But if she can’t strike a blow for Freedom, she’ll at least make a beautiful firework.

“Fireworks Composite” by jeff_golden is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The dragon breathed fire and soared on thermals. It dove from high cliffs and glided on wings that would not otherwise support its weight, sending out flame as it approached the ground and rising on the hot air.
It also found that the fires were a great way to flush out prey from hiding. All it had to do was dive and pick up a fleeing deer, then rise again on the hot air. A perfect system.
The dragon traveled constantly, making a huge, burnt out loop to mark its territory. It never understood why the knights hunted it, though.

“Greece Forest Fire July 25 2007” by Carl Osbourn is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

The mist hung over the lake, calm and beautiful in the dawn. The water looked blue and peaceful in the rising sun. It was the dawn of another perfect day.
Underneath the surface, in the ruins that had once been homes, towns, cemeteries, the dead waited in the black water.
The lake had been a valley, flooded to create a reservoir to feed the big city a few miles away. And of course, it served as a resort for the rich and powerful.
They didn’t think about the ghosts they’d made. But all things that sink will one day rise.

“Paulina Lake at Sunset, Oregon” by Bonnie Moreland (free images) is marked with Public Domain Mark 1.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

When the gods die, they become voices on the wind. Pan became music.
Most people hardly notice the song, but you hear it clearly: Mournful yet compelling notes calling you deeper into the forest.
You follow the music to a glade where Pan, the last of Chaos’s Children sits playing in the sun. You lay down on the grass to listen to the songs until eventually you fall asleep.
When you awaken, you are alone, and the sun is almost down. You must’ve dreamed it, you think, until you look down and find the wooden flute cradled in your hand.

“LEYENDECKER, J. C. (Joseph Christian, 1874-1951). 🇺🇸 Saturday Evening Post, Spring [satyr], June 2, 1928.” by Halloween HJB is marked with CC0 1.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

He wouldn’t have called it a proper pack. The other monsters were monstrous all the time, but he had to make do with claws and superhuman senses in short bursts.
The vampire was okay, if a bit of a snob, and he liked the gillman, even though he was very introverted. He just hated the nickname they gave him.
When you were in a pack, it didn’t matter much where you were going. You just had to follow the tail of the person in front of you.
But the other monsters made fun of the werewolf’s bad sense of direction.

“Wolf” by Michelleyyy is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

When they besieged his family’s compound, his father gave him their ancestral sword and told him to run. The last he saw of his parents was them drawing blades the hidden passage closed behind him.
His family had allies who kept him secret, raising him as a vassal in the hopes that one day his return would benefit them. The sword had its own plans as well. It whispered to him at night, demanding he take revenge.
The boy trained hard knowing one day he would need to chose between carving out a new future and avenging his family’s loss.

“File:Japanese katana with horimono (blade carving).jpg” by ElPablo is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

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Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 

It was a cliché, but he died onstage. His heart gave out when his set was just heating up. He struggled to breathe, the stool fell from under him, and that was it. The only bright light he ever saw was the spotlight.
He was still at the comedy club after they rushed out his body. The little stage was the only place where he had really felt alive. Why should he spend the afterlife anywhere else?
He was still working out how to communicate, but was already working on a new set. He was going to knock ‘em dead.

“Comedy Club Sofia” by Petyabogdanova is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

My very short story collection, The Mountain’s Shadow is available now from Amazon and Smashwords!

Everyday Drabbles © 2025 by Hugh J. O’Donnell is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0