Our host is Linda Hill and your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “loan/lone.” Use them any way you’d like. Bonus points if you use both. Have fun!

**The Loan of a Lone Soul** 

In the heart of the city, where the lights dimly flicker and the streets whisper secrets, I found myself alone. Or so I thought. You see, I’m not the most reliable source—my memory’s like a sieve, and my words, well, they twist like the alleyways around here. 

I had a friend, or at least I think he was a friend. His name? It changes with the story. Let’s call him Jack. Jack had this idea, a loan of sorts, not of money, but of trust. He’d tell me his deepest secrets, and I’d keep them. In return, I’d give him mine. A fair trade, right? 

But here’s the catch—I never told him anything true. My life’s a novel written by a committee of liars, and I’m their chief. I told Jack I was an astronaut, a pirate, even a ghost haunting the very streets we walked. And he believed me—or at least, he pretended to. 

One night, under the pale glow of a street lamp, Jack turned to me, his eyes piercing through the shadows, and said, “I know you’re lying.” My heart skipped a beat. Had he seen through my facade? No, it couldn’t be. I was too good. 

“I’m not lying,” I insisted, the words slipping out smoother than the silk of a spider’s web. “You’re just too *lone* in your thoughts to see the truth.” 

Jack laughed, a sound that echoed off the walls, filling the night with its melody. “And you,” he retorted, “are too *loaned* out to your fictions to recognize reality.” 

We parted ways that evening, two silhouettes diverging on a path littered with deceit. Was Jack real? Was I? In this city of illusions, who can say? Perhaps I’m just a character in your mind, dear reader, a figment spun from the threads of imagination. 

So, take my tale as you will—a loan, a lone soul’s confession, or the ramblings of an unreliable narrator. Just remember, not all that glitters is gold, and not all who wander are lost. But me? I’m definitely one of the two.