He made a vow to taste everything, and considered himself fortunate to live in times that made such a quest possible. His ancestors had to make do with what was locally available, often devastating their environment. Thanks to advanced technology, the galaxy was his oyster. He traveled the stars, seeking out new life and new cuisines. He returned to the restored Earth and dined on guilt-free dodo eggs and wooly mammoth steaks. But after a lifetime of epicurean delights, he looked over his to-eat list and found only one dish left on the menu: Human. That one would be tricky.
The lizard lay on the rock, sunning itself. It was only a foot long, but the whole rest of the courtyard was utterly destroyed. “I don’t get it,” the rogue said. “The Basilisk is a magical experiment that escaped and went feral,” the wizard explained. “Its barely contained power causes earthquakes with each footstep, and its very gaze is death.” “It’s only natural predator is the weasel,” said the ranger. “But since we don’t have one, let’s just leave it alone. Why pick a fight with something that powerful?” That’s when the rogue spotted the barbarian sneaking up behind it.
The other orders considered the cult of the Shadow God to be odd and superstitious, even by their standards. But the priest and his small but fervent congregation paid them no mind. They met at dusk, when the shadows were longest, and he did not preach to the people, but to the projections at their feet. Their esoteric faith claimed that the physical world was an illusion and that only the shadows were truly real. The other clerics laughed at such silly notions, but they did so in well-lit rooms with their backs against the wall. Because you never knew.
It was the start of another beautiful Independence Day in Washington, DC. The janitor robot looked out over the Mall, which was already buzzing with anticipation for the festivities. It wasn’t every day you celebrated a country’s 300th anniversary. The rising sun sparkled off the reflecting pool as stalls and tents prepared for opening. Busses and smart taxis ferried visitors on early bird tours, while essential personnel working on the holiday made their commutes. It loved this city, and its country. It was so glad they got rid of all the humans. They were just making a mess of things.
Elegy was unique among professional assassins in that he was hired by his victims themselves, rather than their enemies. They had a number of reasons. Some wanted to experience the thrill of being hunted, thinking they could outwit him. Some victims had incurable diseases. Others were simply overcome with despair. These last cases he considered very carefully. Other killers considered him little better than a social worker. What challenge, they asked, was there in assassinating someone who wanted to die? Elegy didn’t mind. He knew what they did not. There was a satisfaction in helping others, even to the end.
The hunters pursued the monsters into the valley, mist rising from the river as the sun crept towards the horizon. Yesterday, they were an upstanding family. They were friends and neighbors, even if they never wore silver or went out at night. A daylight raid had discovered the chains and gnawed carcasses hidden in their basement. There was no need for a werewolf trial. The family fled into the mist, now a thick fog that coalesced into hissing shadows. At least the Vampire Clans still honored hospitality. Mother covered the youngest’s ears so he would not hear the hunters’ screams.
He left for space dreaming of being an explorer, extending the reach of human civilization among the stars. He found out when he arrived that what the colony needed was farmers. He looked out at the vast, unmapped plains of his new home and hesitated. He could just go. They wouldn’t stop him. Instead, he got to work. Life on the frontier was not so romantic as he imagined, but he got his hands dirty and tamed the planet another way. When the next wave of colonists arrived, he fed the crew that would help him fulfill his own dreams.
The feral cat lived for years in the witch’s garden. He was tolerated, but never quite adopted by the old woman, whose fierce-eyed owl familiar hated the little furball on sight. The cat was a simple creature. He hunted among the herbs in summer and sheltered beneath the porch in winter. But nothing can live that close to magic without changing. The cat was a simple creature. He did not truly wish for anything. Except that when he saw birds flying overhead, he would make a little chirp of frustration. When the cat grew wings, the witch’s familiar was livid.
The archeologist stood at the top of the mountain and consulted her map. The ancient document described the volcanic peak as a dragon’s skull, still breathing fire even in death. She found beauty, if not scientific clarity, in the description. The map was steeped in mystery and magic, but as a scientist, she was interested in fact. She laid out her tools and got to work taking soil samples. As she brushed away the top layer of ash, she Uncovered a strange layer of petrified bone tapering to a snout. Perhaps the ancients wrote about more than poetry after all.
When the old man discovered the mark on their door, he started up the mountain trail to the castle. He didn’t leave a note. It was afternoon by the time he reached the crumbling fortress. He found a sunny spot in the courtyard and settled in to wait. As the light faded, the ruin filled with mist. Suddenly the vampire stood before him as tall and implacable as Death himself. “You’re not who I expecting,” the Count said, amused. “But perhaps you will do.” “Yes,” the grandfather said, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the stake. “Perhaps I will.”
Hugh J. O'Donnell 