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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UnNerved
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Unnerved

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.”

“Really?”

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
PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

 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}

Plan
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

French Fries & Revenge {Part 2}: A Writing Prompt Wednesday Tale

French Fries & Revenge 

French Fries & Revenge is a continuation from This is the Tricky Part, which you should click the link and read before reading this one. 🙂 Comment and share! 

My reflexes, which were once stiff, now snapped into action. I threw Jason under the bed, whipping around to then knock a guy in the knees. When he went down I caught his appearance–all black, gas mask covering his face, with no indication of nationality.

Gas mask? What do they think I can do? I screamed in my mind.

In the midst of fighting them off and somehow avoiding the rapid fire of bullets coming my way I could hear small familiar thought in the air.

They don’t know what you can do! That is why they are scared! Jason. Somehow his message weaved through the tangle of wanna be soldier thoughts surrounding me. It wasn’t just I could hear their thoughts, but I could sense their brain commands to their limbs. I knew where they were aiming before they aimed and that was why I just took down twenty soldiers. Well, that and apparently I am Supergirl or something because in my past life that only ended maybe a day ago you would be shocked if I could do one pushup.

Panting, I stood in the midst of fallen enemies. My oversized white gown had bullet holes in the areas that moved slower than myself and my feet felt cut up, but I was alive. I looked up to see Jason standing by the operating table he fixed me on.

Who? 

His eyes turned fiery, “Donavan.”

I watched him as his thoughts filled with what truly happened to me and what my life before this truly was. Apparently, the life I remember was the life before last. Maybe I was a monster after all.

As we stared at each other Jason’s mind was filled with hunger–of fries…and revenge.

{to be continued}

Word Count: 291

This is the Tricky Part {Writing Prompt Wednesday Story}

Writing Prompt Wednesday

This is the Tricky Part

tricky part I died. It was easy actually. A bullet found my heart, shredding it pieces. It felt like sleeping at first until he got his hands on me. He wheeled me into a secure room and…and…

Well, let’s just say dying is easy. Coming back is when things get tricky. And they got tricky. The pain racked through my body as the electric pulses tried to start up my brain and my new heart. The peace ripped away from me.

I twitched. My eyes fluttered. My ears heard screaming. It sounded like a banshee…found out later it was me.

Silence.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a blank white canvas of a ceiling. Everything was sterile. I turned my head, feeling every muscle ache and pull as if I hadn’t used them in years. As if I was a new being, awakening for the first time. Then I saw him. He stood at the end of my bed–Jason.

I tried saying his name, but the words caught, and my vocal chords puffed out only air.

“You…you won’t be able to speak…I couldn’t heal your vocal chords,” his voice was rough.

Why, I thought.

He answered as if he heard me, “The second bullet went through your throat. I didn’t have time to repair it.”

My hands shot up to my throat. That action barely registered on the pain meter this time. Actually, my reflexes felt–powerful.

What is happening to me, I pondered inside my head.

He answered. “I had to use a high degree of electric shock therapy to get things going again. He…changed you…”

I started to panic. Electric shock? What am I? Frankenstein’s bride?

“Cora. I would never piece you back together in that nature…”

I looked down. No stitches. No random new body parts–just a new heart. My eyes found his again and I could see his pain–and his relief.

Why can you hear me? I directed the thought toward him.

He grinned, “I don’t know. All I know is you’re back.”

Then I heard it. The thoughts floating in the air.

We got her surrounded.

                                 Move! Move!

On my mark!

I pushed a thought to him, It might not last very long…

He gave me a concerned look right before the doors burst open in flames and men charged in…

{to be continued}

A Bridge in a Field {Friday Fictioneer 100 word Story}

A Bridge in a Field
© Adam Ickes

A Short Story: A Bridge in a Field

She walked cautiously on the bridge. She ran her hand gently over the wood railing, peering over. The water that once ran free through the corn fields dried up, showing only dirt and weeds.

The gazebo at the end looked as broken as her. In their prime, they saw love–created love. She twisted the diamond ring, removing it. She held it up one last time. She chucked it into the barren creek. She watched the ring fall, glistening as it dropped, but like the love she once knew, it was gone, covered by the muck.

 

Word count: 96

Mirror Mirror on the Wall {Writing Prompt Wednesday}

mirror mirror

Writing Prompt Wednesday

Instructions: Use the prompt provided and write a short story, poem, dialogue, scene, etc of your choice. No more than 500 words and the story needs to be an original of your own. Leave a link to your story in the comments below where readers and I can check them out!

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

“Dana, what are you doing?” Sophie came up beside her best friend.

Dana wore her short black hair in a small ponytail at the nape of her neck with a baseball cap, covering up the rest of her hair. Her sharp emerald eyes lit up as she stood in front of the old, victorian mirror.

“Come on Soph, aren’t you curious?” she asked, glancing at her friend.

They were in a forbidden part of a German castle. The girls were on a summer tour before starting college for the first time and this was their high school graduation present to themselves. Sophie’s soft blonde hair started to stand up on her neck as Dana reached out a hand to the mirror. The faded designs looked as if they were trying to tell a story–one the girls needed to decipher before they spoke to it.

“Mirror mirror on the wall…” Dana started, smirking as she was scaring her friend Dana, “Who is going to kill us all?”

She saw Sophie’s eyes widen, but not at the request. The mirror flashed a bright light and when the girls found their eyesight again, a floating grim looking head was staring back at them from inside the mirror.

“An interesting request that has awakened my slumber. You’re own curiosity has dialed death’s number,” he chanted at the girls.

Before they could say a word the ground started to shake, causing the cracks in the walls and tumbling decor around them as the head continued, “What you did not know is summoning me brings the Queen back to the show.”

The girls turned to scream and run, but a shadowy figure stood behind them, stifling their voices. Once materialized their eyes went straight to her face. The Queen’s evil smirk made the girls cower as the Queen took steps toward them.

“For you, a lesson is to be learned, what you speak is what you earn,” was the last thing the girls heard…

The End

Now It’s Your Turn

AshleyDannie

Painful Waves: A Friday Fictioneer Piece

Painful Waves
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Friday Fictioneers

Painful Waves

The waves hit the shoreline of rocks with such force. Something about watching this action beat the pain out of me–or into me. Mason coming home tore open the wounds I have tried so hard to forget, but I never fully healed. Another crash and it felt as if the waves struck me in the gut. Wouldn’t be the first time–Mason–the crash–Grandpa. I took another swig of the bottle sitting next to me. I could feel the pain start to numb. I stood up, trying to balance but it would be so easy to jump…
Word Count: 99

Check Out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who is in charge of Friday Fictioneers