The high kicked in during day three. That's when he really started seeing changes. Through translucent skin, he saw his stomach shrivel up, his eyes grow bloodshot, his hair thin out. He watched his lungs struggle for breath and saw his bones fade to the yellow of dying leaves and forgotten books.
Yeah, that's when the high really started to hit him. He smiled at himself in the mirror.
Most people voted for the angel because she was pretty. Not just pretty, heavenly. Long blonde hair that floated around her as though buoyed by a constant breeze, eyes so blue they seemed to glow, skin like a doll's, the whole bit. The wings helped, too.
The first week, the angel took away their hamburgers during lunch. Overindulgence, she said. The second, she disbanded the LGBT club, sci-fi club, debate team and literary magazine. Unnatural, she said. The third week, the angel faced a revolution.
This is a really tough prompt I wanted to try out: Write a paragraph where every sentence contains at least one five+ syllable word. Begin with “Hypothetically speaking…”
Hypothetically speaking, she thought, this isn't even murder - no weapon, no blame. She looked at the body in the water, all traces of animosity gone now. She had merely taken advantage of an opportunity, she told herself, and what was so wrong about that? Was it her fault if electricity traveled so easily through water? She loitered beside the body, waiting for forgiveness, but the burned coprse stank of culpability, and she left instead, lightning still sparking along her fingers.
It was stupid, but the only thing I could think to say was, "Uh... hi?"
The man straightened, pressing his fists onto his hips to strike a dramatic figure against the static hissing on the television behind him. He lifted his square chin. "I am Captain Justice and I'm here to defeat you at last, Doom Girl."
The internet told me to do it. I figured everything would work out, or at least go okay. What I never counted on was a roller derby team tearing after me through the streets of Atlanta while the mishap at the World of Coca-Cola continued to flood out their championship bout...
The Tooth Fairy lost more than just teeth when she tried to rob Jimmy's room.
At first, he'd remained still when he felt her fishing around under his pillow. But after leaving the quarter he'd expected for his missing front tooth, he heard her poking around his bedroom. He cracked an eye open just enough to see a figure moving through the gray darkness near his piggy bank.
Jimmy didn't need to know more than that. Eyes open wide, he jumped out of bed, grabbed the baseball bat he always kept under it and swung for the bitch's head. The fairy and the piggy both hit the ground and shattered on his bedroom floor, his tooth rolling out of her limp hand and onto his "Toy Story" play mat.
There's a skeleton in my closet. He's not a metaphor or anything. He's a literal skeleton, with finger bones and toe bones and a few missing teeth and creepy empty eye sockets. Most of the time I don't mind him. He doesn't make much noise and doesn't seem to need any food or water. But I've been wearing the same jeans and sneakers for the past month and they're starting to stink. All the rest are in the closet, behind the skeleton, and he's not budging for nothing.
Even so, the hero act just wasn't my thing. I was what you might call “ordinary.” Staunchly ordinary. I was the guy you compared yourself to on a bad or lazy day and thought, “Well, at least I'm not as useless as that poor sack of shit.”
I didn't run into the burning building because I cared about the people inside it. I saved them, but not because I wanted to make the newspaper the next day or bask in a superficial stint as a celebrity. I didn't care about money, glory, bravery, goodness, god or just "doing the right thing." No, I plunged headlong into that building so that I was the saver, and not the victim.