Hugh J. O'Donnell

He was a demon of small things, a little god of petty aggravations. He blew out candles, spoiled milk, and broke horseshoes. All the little things that nudged humans slowly out of the light and into the darkness.
He never got any credit. A bigger demon would inevitably swoop in and corrupt the souls he set on edge.
He didn’t mind, though. As human technology improved, it just got smaller, and fell further in his domain. Now he blew spark plugs, cracked phone screens, and erased hard drives. The greater demons didn’t understand, but soon it would be his time.

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One day he found a red lily on his doorstep.
There was no note, and no hint of where it had come from. He shrugged and brought it inside.
More flowers followed. Finally, he waited at home and caught a raven leaving them. It cawed up at him and then turned away, as though embarrassed. He looked up the behavior and found it was a courtship ritual.
The butcher never figured out why the bird had imprinted on him, but he put a cage for it in the corner of his shop, and they were both happy with the arrangement.

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She’d worn the mask for a festival. It was a beautiful piece, with bright paint and lapis lazuli eyes, and she’d felt like a goddess wearing it. But when the festival was over, she hung it on the wall and returned to her everyday life.
It was a few days before the mask spoke to her with the goddess’s voice. The goddess doled out blessing and duties to the woman, who was unsure of herself, but dared not refuse the calling.
She danced on the temple steps and took off her mask, but the goddess was not finished wearing her.

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The man stared at his phone in consternation, swiping at a 3D map of the hollowed out asteroid back and forth with jagged swipes of his fingers.
“Where are you trying to go?” I asked.
“St. Dominic’s Cathedral,” he said.
“You can’t get there from here.”
“Why not?” He asked. I pointed upwards. The tips of the cathedral’s grand spires pointed down at us from the the ceiling of the mile-wide chamber carved into the rock.
“Oh, thanks,” He said. He stepped out into the square and ignited his jetpack, scattering trash everywhere.
“Tourists,” I muttered, cleaning up the debris.

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A few gathered in the square early, setting up tables and chairs with space for everyone in the colony. They piled them with food and treats, all the things they had forgone in the hard months before.
Finally, the rest of the colonists arrived. Some of them prayed together, others reminisced about the long year together. Children played tag on the green.
Finally, they all took their seats and watched the Earth drift into orbit above them.
It had been a year of hard work and sacrifice, but the space colony was finally self-sufficient. They were going to make it.

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“What is the meaning of this?” the general asked. The scientist deflated a bit as he showed him the prototype.
“Well, you know how we were using pigeons to send messages, and you said that was too slow? I’ve found a solution to speed up the process.”
“By giving the birds little jetpacks?”
“They picked up on the technology surprisingly quickly, although we did have some problems miniaturizing it. They can deliver messages three times faster now!”
“I meant, we should switch to radios!”
“I mean, we could, but I don’t know how we’d train the pigeons to use them.”

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The heroes arrived at the Tomb of the Great Blade Wizard and found that the entrance was blocked by an enormous statue holding a sword and a staff.
“YOU MUST CHOOSE.” A voice echoed through the cavern. The party huddled up.
“This is obviously a trap,” the rogue said.
“Or a test,” the wizard suggested. “We must demonstrate wisdom to proceed.
“Or rather combat prowess” the warrior said. In the end, the Priestess decided with a coin toss.
“The Sword!” She cried. Stone rumbled against stone, and the massive sword came loose from the statue’s hand and crushed them all.

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When Glory took up gardening, the young mage treated the hobby with her usual level of patience and grace. Which is why she surreptitiously applied a few Growth spells to the planters. Things were going well until a stray cat got into them.
Glory woke to find the street blocked off by the now giant feline sunning itself on the cobblestones. She quickly restored him to normal size, but her plants were already ruined. She glared down at the cat, who seemed neither remorseful, nor harmed.
“I never wanted a familiar, but I suppose I could take in a pet.”

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The Temple was her favorite spot in the city. The nuns always had a bit of food for her, and the statue in the foyer was the best climbing spot around. From the goddess’s shoulders, she could see for miles.
She was standing atop the stone watching the rain fall on the city when she saw the ships on the horizon, their black sails billowing in the wind. She raised the alarm, and the city was saved, but the statue was destroyed by cannon fire.
When the nuns had it rebuilt, they included a bench for her to sit on.

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First they built a bonfire, as big and as hot as they could make. The cauldron was rolled out of its sacred spot in the temple. It took a team of a dozen men to bring it to the spot. An army of farmwives spent a whole day carrying the water from the spring to fill it.
The work was grueling, but the villagers were jubilant. The fisherman had sent a message back on their fastest boat. The hunt was successful. They had caught a kraken. The famine was over. They just had to figure out how to cook it.

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