Hugh J. O'Donnell

The old man sat on a catwalk high above the city, smoking and watching the smoke dance. The lights turning below seemed to make it sparkle as it drifted lazily through the air before it was sucked away by the vents, almost like starlight.
Rotation made block of skyscrapers pass underneath, and he tossed his cigarette butt into a rooftop garden. He didn’t understand why humanity tried to recreate Earth when they’d established the space colonies.
As dawn approached, he rose to his feet and returned to the great wheel, spinning in infinity, trying to recapture a world long lost.

“You’re going to ask me about my ex-husband.” She eyed me over the rim of her martini glass. “It’s alright. Everybody does. He always said we were made for each other. It was charming at first, but before long he turned into his father. He was so wounded by being outcast, that he didn’t know how to be loved. So I left.”
“But that isn’t the whole story, is it?” I asked.
“That’s the thing about stories. Some end where others begin. And you can only stay a bride for so long. To the Frankensteins, darling.” We clinked glasses.

He stood in the center of the abandoned lot and spread his arms wide. “Well, what do you think?”
She looked around, taking in the dilapidated screens, the vast, weedy pavement, and the collapsed snackbar. “I think this place is going to need a lot of work. What makes you want to open a drive-in?”
“It’s 2020. Traditional movie theaters are dead. But folks will feel safe in their cars. There’s about to be a resurgence, and we’ll get in on the ground floor!”
She smiled. “Then let’s get to work,” she said.
That’s when the murder hornets attacked.

The troll stood and loomed over the traveler. “This is my bridge, and you must pay my toll!”
She glared back at him, one hand on the hilt of her sword. “Questmap.com told me there were no tolls on this route.”
“Ugh, those guys,” the troll said, and pulled out his cellphone. “Where’re you headed?”
“The ancient ruins of Fragolino,” she replied.
“That’s not even on this route! You want to go this way.” He pointed to his device.
She thanked him and retreated the way she’d came. He settled into his lurking spot and began composing another complaint email.

He decided to reorganize his bookshelves, but he couldn’t decide how best to do it. He wanted it to be unique, to be be a statement about himself.
He considered organizing by genre, but decided that was boring. He thought about arranging his books by color, but didn’t like the way it looked.
In the end, he decided to order them by authors’ first name. Unfortunately, he was interrupted early in the process, and didn’t get past the first letter before shoving them all back randomly on the shelves.
It would be forever lost, his library of Alex and Aria.

The adventurers came upon the ruined inn deep in the forest. The day was late, and the trail rougher than expected, so they decided to take shelter where they could.
The main building was built of good stone, and the roof only leaked in spots. A century ago, before The Calamity, it would have been bustling with travelers weary from the road. Now the ruin was as silent as a tomb, but at least it was warm and dry.
The ghosts whispered excitedly to one another. There was much to do. It had been so long since they’d had guests.

The witch left seeds out for the birds every morning.
At first, the blackbird avoided it, certain that it was poison. He would watch the other birds peck at the seeds, heedless and twittering, and watch what happened to them.
When they didn’t fall over dead, he hopped to a closer branch, watching carefully for her cats to come tearing out of a dark corner to pick off a straggler.
When they didn’t appear, he flew to the edge of the feeder.
He would take her food, but never forgive her for the curse changed his form from a man’s.

The woods outside of the village was a ‘soft’ place. The occasional hiker went missing, but strange and wondrous objects could be found among the misty pines.
A cottage industry grew around the site, catering to thrill seekers and treasure hunters. Things went well for many years. A few people got rich, a few people went missing, but for the most part the village simply prospered.
Until the scout appeared with his loose clothes and strange weapons. He surveyed the village and spoke into a device on his wrist.
“The portal is stable and resistance minimal. Send the army through.”

The Alien Commander stood and watched the workmen tear down the galaxy. He’d have liked to sit, but his Star Throne had already been removed.
He heard a polite cough and turned to see the Plucky Junior Officer standing beside him. They hadn’t worked together much, so he’d never noticed how young he was.
“What will you do next?” the kid asked.
“Go back to the Theatre, I suppose. You?”
“I dunno.”
“Let me give you some advice. Your first series is always special, but nothing lasts.”
Someone in the control booth flicked a switch, and the stars winked out.