So, this is a bit of fun.

I'm turning my Itunes on shuffle. I will then put that song on repeat until I've completed writing a one-shot. The one-shot will follow whatever story the song brings to me.

Music is my usual inspiration, so this should be an interesting experiment.

All one-shots will be Alice/Jasper.

Song: I'm not the one.

Artist: 3OH!3.

"You're way too young to be broken; you're way too young to fall apart."

Jasper scuffled down the abandoned street, dark had long fallen and it was nearing midnight. The time didn't matter to him, nothing much did anymore. His hands were buried deep within his pockets and his head was bent toward the ground.

If someone were around in this moment, they would have easily smelt the pungent aroma of marijuana that surrounded him; he should have known better than to smoke it while on meth. The wind ruffled Jasper's hair as he continued to walk at a measured pace, it rustled the leaves on the ground, stirring them to life. Their bold reds and yellows were at odds with the bleached street, for it appeared black and white in the moonlight.

As Jasper neared the end of the road the streetlamp on the corner went out. The shadows tilted at unfamiliar angles with the absence of light.

Jasper's tattered leather jacket was worn, it smelt of tobacco and cannabis, but he refused to get rid of it. It was just him. He couldn't remember how he got it, but he never went without it. His fingers brushed against the box of cigarettes in the pocket, contemplating sparking up.

Jasper looked up sharply at the corner; he'd swear he saw movement. And that he did, there was figure there. It was surprisingly motionless and facing away from him. His head tilted slightly, he hadn't seen anybody for blocks now, and why were they here?

He squinted to get a better look in the limited light; the figure was leaning against the broken streetlamp. It was tiny, larger than a child, but not by much. As he drew closer he saw that it was a young girl, she had inky black hair, it was wild, and Jasper seemed to know that it reflected her personality. Her legs were bare, and despite the cold night, she wasn't shivering.

Jasper gasped as his eyes settled on what she was wearing, the only item of clothing he could see from where he was standing. It was a leather jacket, but not just any leather jacket. It was his.

The rip in the back, at the bottom, on the right hand side, from when he'd gotten into a knife fight with a crack-head. The burn hole on the left shoulder from where Maria had used it and him as an ashtray. The frayed seams along the bottom edge that he continued to fiddle with, no matter how much they threatened to fall apart.

It was his jacket, and he gave it to no one.

She glanced over her shoulder then, her smile the brightest that Jasper had seen in a long time. Her eyes danced with unspoken mischief and enlightenment. She knew him; that much was obvious. He didn't know her, but somehow he thought that he should have. The sense of familiarity he felt with her was unbelievable. She was too vulnerable to be out all alone, especially so scantily dressed. He felt he should have her bundled up under his arm, warm and safe.

Jasper hadn't cared for anything or anyone for as long as he could remember, not even himself.

But one smile from the strange girl had him second guessing his entire existence. He still couldn't fathom why she could possibly have his jacket. He was wearing it, so how could she be too?

He reached out for her and his hand rested on her shoulder, spinning her to face him. In one swift movement he positioned himself in front of the exact place that she'd been stood in. But she wasn't any longer…

Jasper glanced around, anxious and panicked, but she was gone, not even the leaves rustled in the street. All was silent, all was dead.

A gust of wind blew around the corner, and within it Jasper would've sworn he'd heard a giggle, full of mischief and amusement. A sound fit for a strange little girl.

"Alice…" He whispered.