Today’s photo prompt takes me back to the first Friday Fictioneers I ever participated in, three whopping years ago. It’s been a fun ride, even if I’ve missed a few legs of the journey. Just for fun, I thought I’d pull out my first story. You’ll find a new story above the photo, and the old one below. Be sure to scroll down for the link to other stories by the Friday Fictioneers community!
If She Loved Me
She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me.
Every sixth grader boarding the charter bus is like a petal from a daisy. In front of me, Grace pulls her hair into a ponytail.
She loves me not.
“If I smell like a boy, I used my brother’s shampoo. Mine was packed.” She flashes that beautiful, crooked-toothed smile.
She loves me.
Six days in Washington, D.C., one for every year I’ve known her. Grace heaves her duffel bag over her shoulder, nearly smacking me in the face, and steps onto the bus.
She loves me not.
His Last Ride
Angelique sidled closer to the fat man, as if to claim his protection from the bustling travelers. He reeked of sweat, cheap cologne, and the blood he had spilled in Chinatown.
This one will be easy, she thought.
No one would suspect her. Such a sweet, delicate thing, the old ladies always said. Between the chaos of discovering the corpse and the systematic interrogations by local authorities, she would simply disappear.
A broad-shouldered man in a business suit bumped into Angelique, nearly falling over her small form.
“Hey, kid! Watch where you’re going, would ya?” His New York accent was thick with cruelty and greed.
Angelique smiled apologetically at him, her blue eyes wide and wondering under her golden curls. The businessman would be even less pleased when they found the bloody knife in his attaché case.