I'm going to stop calling this "story a day" as I clearly don't do it every day, despite my best intensions.

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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.

Easing into some play writing with a simple prompt: You decide to run for president of your high school class.

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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.

I usually start my day by reading Daily Science Fiction. Today's story is exceptionally good. Unfortunately, it's not online yet (the stories are distributed via e-mail). I will try to remember to repost it when it goes online though.

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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.

A man in red, white and blue lycra climbed through my television screen and hopped into my living room. I set my remote down, no longer concerned about flipping away from weight loss infomercials.

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."

"Excuse me?"

Being on the moon was something like getting on a horse. Suddenly the Earth seemed small and far away, and I might as well have weighed nothing.

Forgot yesterday. Was traveling for a big chunk of the day. But I did spend some of my flight writing.

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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...

Tried to go to a museum today to get some inspiration, but... Atlanta sucks, so that didn't work out. Instead I sat in the park and didn't let myself leave until I finished the scene I was working on. Anyway, random writing prompt time.

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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.

Not from the superhero story anymore.

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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.

I messed up already! Ah. I honestly and truly just forgot the past couple days. Oh well. Now I'm on a very laid-back vacation. I saw all the sights I want to see and still have three more days, so I plan to put at least one of them toward writing. I like the superhero story I started the other day. I'm going to see if I can make something out of it. Here's another excerpt from it.

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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.”

Sending good thoughts to those on the East Coast. Play it safe. Hope you all stay warm and dry and that you don't lose power for long, or at all.

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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.