Afraid of Me, Myself, & I (Part 3): Continue on the Adventure w/ Jason & the Nameless Girl

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afraidAfraid of Me, Myself, & I (Part 3)

(See below for the links to the first two parts and catch up on their adventures)

It had been a month and still no sign of Donovan. Jason was starting to get restless, but I was enjoying trying to get back to a normal life. Well, as normal as I could remember. According to Jason, this was my third life. In a sense that my second life was me still technically alive, just reprogrammed. I don’t remember that part. All I remember is going to the school dance with Jason as high school sweethearts, kissing under the tacky disco ball our committee put up for kicks and giggles. After high school, well, that is the blur.

Jason had left the trailer for the day to find some work. We had been moving from small town to town, sniffing out Donovan, but trying to stay under the radar. Especially since the newspaper in Boston said I died and my family had a memorial service for me.

For now, we settled in a town called Maysville, Nebraska that had an abandoned trailer park. We decided it would be safe to stay here a little longer since our funds were pretty much depleted.

I needed a walk and we needed some food, so I grabbed my black zip up hoodie and the rest of the cash we had. Flipping up my hood, I walked through the leaves falling from the trees. I smiled, remembering glimpses of jumping into piles of leaves as my dad tossed more on top of me. The memory of what he looked like alluded me.

I shook my head as I passed some teens trying to make an ollie on their skateboards. I finally came to the old mom and pop store, ringing the bell that hangs over the door when I entered. The cashier looked up to greet me, but her face fell as she took in my facial features under my hood. I waved, but the blood drained from her face. Before I took a step in she had a shotgun pulled out from beneath the counter pointed right at me. My eyes went wide in panic and the door behind me opened. A frantic Jason stopped right beside me and raised his hands up when he realized the gun pointing at me.

“What is going on?” I asked him mentally.

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He replied out loud, “Apparently, you have been here before.”

I glanced over at a picture behind the girl. It was her and a man with balding hair and a scar on his left eyebrow. My brain sparked as an image of this man on the floor, bloodied with a knife sticking out of his chest flashed across my eyes.

“I…killed someone here…” I mentally whispered to him, but it must have gone to the girl and the guests that were in the store, who know saw the gun pointed at me because I could now hear the fear. My carefully constructed mental barrier broke.

“Jason, they are afraid of me,” I mentally said to him, “I don’t blame them. I am afraid of myself too.”

Jason and I looked at each other, trying to figure out how we were going to get out of this one.

Links to Parts 1 & 2

This is the Tricky Part (Part 1)

French Fries & Revenge (Part 2)

UnNerved: A Friday Fictioneer Flash Fiction Piece by AshleyDannie

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson


The half egg shaped arches unnerved me. I just stared at the entrance, feeling claustrophobic.

“I can do this,” I whispered, clutching my violin.

A fellow violinist walked up beside me, “I froze in that hallway my first time too.”

“What happened?”

“I missed the concert and demoted down to second violins.”

“Oh boy.”

The fellow violinist glanced down at my shaking hands, “Trust me. Just close your eyes, take a breath, and let those strings sing. Each time you get up there by yourself it gets easier.”


The man chuckled, “No.”

I stared as he walked away.





This is the parameters of the story. 🙂

Friday Fictioneers
copyrighted to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields



Train Tracks of a Gypsy Soul {Friday Fictioneer Tale}

Train Tracks

 Train Tracks of a Gypsy Soul

She walked along the tracks that intertwined in this part of the city. The red-head wore an old, tattered backpack that held just one more outfit, a toothbrush, and well-used journals. In her right hand, the 16-year-old held a guitar case.

As she meandered, she searched for a train car with an open door. An old clunker started passing very slowly. Before it picked up speed she saw an open car. She threw her guitar up into the empty space and quickly followed.

Sitting on the edge, she pulled out the guitar, serenading her new gypsy soul.

Word Count: 97




Friday Fictioneers

Every Friday the Fictioneers come from all over the world to share 100 words at Rochelle’s blog. All genres welcome (Please exercise discretion).

Not the Plan based on a True Story {Friday Fictioneer Piece}

copyrights go to Amy Reese

Not the Plan

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to a sterile looking hallway, but with garage doors. The trolley’s wheels squeaked on the floor as she pulled it to door 218. Her eyes, slightly swollen from tears, focused on the lock and key. The clunk of the lock as she dropped it, vibrated her very being.

She huffed as she lifted the aluminum entrance to reveal boxes of her life neatly stacked. This wasn’t the plan. These were supposed to be moved to a Florida apartment, not her Indiana childhood basement.

Tears fell as she started to load the trolley.

Word Count: 99        (Based on a true story)

Copyrights: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Copyrights: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Bang Bang Goes the Fireworks {A Friday Fictioneers Tale}

Bang Bang

A Friday Fictioneers Tale: Bang Bang

The lights flooded the sky overhead as the red glow burned into the night sky. I watched as I snaked through the alleyways. The shadows I normally can blend into were gone. 4th of July. Worst night for my kind of work.

I saw the target–middle-aged and balding. A family man, sitting with his kids and wife. The little ones running around with sparklers, laughing.

They have no idea. I found the deepest shadows and aimed. I waited. Remembering the images of bodies killed by his command. A slew of fireworks shot up as I pulled the trigger.

Word Count: 99

Night Lights — A Friday Fictioneer Piece

Night Lights


Night Lights

I floated, watching the lights from the round building ripple in the oil-like sea. The foreign music pulsed, shaking the ocean floor.  I swam closer.

I reached the shoreline wall and I peeked over it. There, outside the building, stood a boy and a girl, but they weren’t still. Their bodies moved together in a way I had never seen before. Then there lips touched.

“Aw,” I sighed, but the girl heard. She ran to the wall, but I dived back into the water, swimming away. I just hope she didn’t see my tail because Daddy would be mad.

Word Count: 99

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields! Check out her website!

The Squawking–A Friday Fictioneer Story

The Squawking

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The squawking birds on the phone line reminded of Hitchcock, as I walked up to the old, Victorian apartments. I knocked quickly, huddling closely to the door. The building was abandoned and the owner was supposed to meet me, so I could look it over.

I wanted to restore the building. No answer. I grabbed the knob, opening the door. Silence wafted over me. I took two steps in, “Hello?”

Two more steps. Out of nowhere, a bird fiercely swooped through a broken window at me. I screamed, swatting it away. I turned and ran. No building was worth it.


Word Count: 100

Country Wire: A Friday Fictioneer Story

Country Wire

Friday Fictioneers

Country Wire
PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

The barbed wire fence was a mess. Some areas were pulled tight, but others lacked and dripped to the ground. The tall, stringy grass swayed in the breeze within the confines of the fence. The weathered barn was broken and rotting with a rusting Farmall living in the middle of it.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Hailey stated the obvious, “I can’t believe your grandpa let it go like this. This will take forever!”

Tristan laughed, “Well Grandma did say Grandpa said if he was going to grow old so was the farm.”


Word Count: 96

Check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for details if you want to join the community

Past Love [A Flash Fiction/Photo Prompt Piece]

past love
copyright to SlipTalk

Past Love

She walked through the woods of her new home. The small house gave her a desire for adventure. As she manuevered through the foliage, the sun stayed hidden in the dense fog and cloud cover. Minutes turned to a couple hours when she emerged into a clearing of green meadows, but in the middle of it all was a structured not used for decades.

The foliage climbed up through the bars on the rusted Ferris Wheel, seats swaying in the breeze, singing her a creaky song of past loves. If she closed her eyes she coudl almost see the young couple having their first kiss on top in the moonlight.

word count: 107

My own flash fiction/picture prompt piece for you. I saw this on Pinterest and had to write a short story for you. Make sure you comment at the bottom or if you have a photo prompt you want me to write about send it my way! There is a writing group that does this every week! If you want to take part check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. She is in charge of it called Friday Fictioneers!


Never Stop Doing What You Love,


“Old Secrets” (Friday Fictioneers)

Old Secrets
Copyrights to Kent Bonham





Old Secrets

She opened it carefully, hearing the clanking of metal components, adhered as pages in the book. Paper didn’t exist among these pages just shapes molded into foreign figures. As she touched the page a static shock coursed her body.

She fell as visions of old secrets came alive in her mind–magic. Magic forged by metal, by air, by water, by fire, and by earth and faces with each. Her fingers tingled as the visions disappeared. She moved her fingers and right before her eyes the book floated toward her.

The foreign figures, now readable, whispered “You are not alone…”

Word Count: 100