Hugh J. O'Donnell

When the roboticist died, his greatest creation came to the funeral, even after their public falling out.
The inventor had always stressed Ad4m’s humanity and treated them like their own child. But Ad4m had always embraced the fact that they were a true android, and something entirely new and different. The two of them hadn’t spoken in years.
Ad4m sat in the front row and listened to the eulogy, twin rivulets of oily water streaming down their face.
“It’s okay,” a friend told them, handing them a tissue.
“I’m not crying. There is a foreign object in my optical sensors.”

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I took a deep breath and completed the summoning spell. The sun seemed to dim. I heard a keening wail from nowhere, heralding the divine being’s appearance.
A hole appeared in the sky, and The Skeleton King emerged, flying into this world on wings of night.
The cyclopean death god stared down at the blue slime I was fighting and twitched his ebon pinions irritably. He sighed, and it sounded like a hurricane. I felt the giant, burning eyes staring at me.
“I didn’t summon you for a critique,” I said.
“Next time, don’t call me unless it’s super important.”

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I brushed aside the tent flap, and the odd but now familiar scent of the nomads’ mounts hit me. I had been living with them for over six month. I learned their language and their customs. I had earned the right to a mount of my own. But the beast had to accept me.
I reached up a palm, and one of the massive creatures bent its flat head to nuzzle it. The twenty-foot tall creature gazed down at me with luminous eyes.
I’d done it. Now all I had to figure out was how to get into the saddle.

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The pool at the oasis temple was only a few feet across, and its water was too salty to drink. Yet a canoe sat in the center, with its paddles tucked up as though prepared for a long journey.
“Why do we have a boat?” An acolyte asked, perplexed as he watched a group of pilgrims line up just to sit in the little wooden vessel for a few minutes. The priestess smiled and took him aside.
“The desert is vast, harsh, and unforgiving. We must learn its ways to survive. But here, we can begin to know the sea.”

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Yara lit the intense and began chanting, feeling foolish. She was sure the spell wouldn’t work, but she had to try.
When she opened her eyes, a translucent figure as insubstantial as the smoke stood before her.
“Mother,” she began, unsure of what to say.
“Yara?” The shade asked, taking in the grown woman before her.
“It’s me. I wanted you to know that I made it. I wanted you to know that I’m alright.”
The ghost started to become fuzzy, the spell already dissipating.
“I wanted you to know that I’m sorry,” the warrior said to the empty shrine.

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The river was widely considered to be completely unnavigable this time of year. The brutal temperatures and floating icebergs would be the doom of any normal river raft.
But when you absolutely needed to get something upriver, you called his team.
They were a crew of three. The pilot steered, and his dog pointed out the ice floes as they drifted into their path. The dragon sat on the roof and melted the icebergs with her fire breath before they got close.
He poled out onto the river, determined to deliver the little girl’s medicine before it was too late.

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The ghost hunter looked up at the property and then back down at the pictures on her phone, taken only a few days before.
“Yeah, dispatch. This place is definitely haunted.”
“Which site are you looking at? There are over dozen potential targets in the neighborhood.”
She looked up at the towering structure. It was a chaotic amalgamation of porches, windows, and pointed roofs. The rotting boards and sagging foundation of the house on the bottom shouldn’t have supported them all. She looked at the translucent glowing figures that surrounded the building. They hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Not anymore, dispatch.”

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The detective poured two shots and pounded one of them. The glass of honey mead seemed like a mug in her tiny fist. Her wings twitched as it went down.
“Listen up, Sweetheart,” she said to the girl sitting across from her. “Around here, there are just three rules: Never eat or drink anything. Never tell anyone your real name, and never make a promise you can’t keep.”
Candyfloss Pink, Faerie’s greatest private detective, looked the human girl up and down. Tonight she was going to break all the rules.
She reached across the table and drained the second glass.

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As the heroes pushed their way through the Fiend’s Fortress, they stumbled across a secret door and found themselves in a dinning room laid out for afternoon tea. A fresh pot steamed on the table, and a cart piled high with pastries waited nearby.
“This must be the break room,” the thief said and poured himself a cup.
“Let’s just make sure it isn’t poisoned,” the alchemist said, and sprinkled one of her powders onto the surface.
The cup rattled, then exploded in a geyser of purple smoke.
“Well?” The Warrior asked, his arms full of sandwiches. “Is it safe?”

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