POV exercise

Okay, so I actually wrote this for lesson three of F2K, but I had a lot of fun with it and thought I'd share it here. We were supposed to write a scene from two different POV's, either third person, first person or second person. I chose first person and third person limited for my original posting, but then Benning posted an optional assignment encouraging us to write a 1000 word story with a beginning, middle and end using the POV that we hadn't used in the original assignment. So I used second person since I hadn't used it before. I have to say that I was kind of worried because I, along with most of the reading public, hate second person, but I must say I really enjoyed using it here. It was definitely a challenge to stay under the 1000 word limit, but I did my best. The result is my tribute to the pulp fiction/film noir stories that I remember so fondly. Enjoy!


The Drop (WC 1000)

She told you this one would be easy, but you knew better. You just couldn’t resist Evelyn when she batted those butterfly lashes at you over the top of her deep brown eyes. You’re a sucker for her and she knows it. A couple of soft spoken pleas mixed with that intoxicating scent and you’re putty in her hands. So here you are sitting in your rusty old Lincoln waiting for the drop.

You scan the street. There aren’t many people out this time of night. Up the street, just a block from the drop, two tuffs seem to be arguing. Nothing heated, just slightly raised voices and a ballet of hands. Down the street a ways, a bum sits with his back to a dry cleaner’s, sipping slowly from a paper sheathed bottle. You swear you can almost smell the alcohol wafting through your open window. How long has it been since your last drink? No time for that now.

A light comes on in the doorway of the tailor shop across the street. The drop. But you’d been told that someone was supposed to leave the package on the step. Should you go knock on the door? You shift in your seat. Before you can get out of your car, the door cracks slightly, an arm comes from behind the door and drops a small brown package on the step. The door closes quickly. The light goes out. You wait, taking in the scene again before making your move. The tuffs are a little closer, but don’t appear to have noticed you. They’re still locked in their debate. You look back down the street. The bum is gone. Must have moved on for the night, looking for a place to bed down.

You slowly push open the door, cringing at the metallic squeal. Nobody but you notices, so you guide the door back into position and make your way across the street. As you reach the curb, the two tuffs look your way, dropping their voices. They slow. You stop, pretending to look at your watch intently. You take out your pack of smokes, tapping it against your palm as the two young men look you over. They move on. You sigh, take a smoke from the pack and light it up. The match’s orange glow briefly illuminates the storefront, “Michael’s Custom Tailoring.” You take a quick drag, then bend down to pick up the package. Maybe this one’s gonna be easier than you thought. Before you’re back up, CRACK! The lights go out.

You wake up in the back of a car between two gorillas in suits, a gun in your ribs. Your head feels like it’s been used in a pinball game and the taste of blood is in your mouth. A black partition lowers between you and the driver’s seat. A disheveled man turns to you from the passenger side, and smiles. It’s that damn bum! You were too worried about those two tuffs to even give the bum a second thought. You always get sloppy when it comes to Evelyn.

“All right, here’s how it’s gonna go down,” says the bum. “You’re gonna tell us where you’re suppose ta meet Evy, or Brick and Eddie will rough you up.”

You’ve got to tell them something. Maybe you can point them in the wrong direction, find an opening and make a move.

“Evelyn’s supposed to meet me at Meridian Park, on the river walk,” you mutter. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth and your voice sounds unfamiliar.

The bum, only you can see now that he’s not really a bum, turns to the driver and motions him onward with a wave of his hand. The big car powers onto the freeway.

“So tough guy, do you know what Evy’s gotten herself into?”

“No,” you say “None of my business. I don’t need any trouble.”

“Oh you got trouble in spades pal.”

He leans forward and offers you his hand. For a second you think about batting it away, but then one of the gorillas nudges the gun deeper into your ribs. You give his hand a quick shake.

“In the meantime, there’s no sense in bein’ uncivilized. My name’s Victor Michael, but you can call me Vic.”

Suddenly you remember where you’ve heard that name, and you don’t like it. Chills run down your spine. This night isn’t gonna end pretty, that’s for sure.

A few minutes later the car leaves the freeway and winds its way towards the park. Vic looks at you expectantly.

“Over by that lamppost,” you say, nodding your head.

“Okay boys, grab the package and mister tough guy here, let’s go get that dame. Jimmy, keep the car running.”

You get out of the car and the gorilla pushes you forward. You walk towards the lamppost, your mind racing, trying to think up a plan. What the hell, you decide to go for it. You feign a fall, moving out of the gun’s path. Then you spin and kick Victor square in his jewels. Victor goes down fast, but one of the gorillas rushes you. You put both fists together and give him everything you’ve got. You hear and feel a sickening crack and the big ape hits the ground.

“Hold it mister,” says gorilla number two, cocking the gun and pointing it straight at you. He pulls back the hammer, this is it you think. BAM! A thunderous shot rings out, only you're still standing and the gorilla is on the ground with a pretty little hole in his head.

“You didn’t think I’d hang you out to dry?” asks Evelyn as she steps from behind the bushes.

“How did you know I’d lead them here Evelyn?” you ask.

“Oh baby, this is our place, and your a man of habit. Now help me get this package and let’s get out of here.” She bats those beautiful lashes at you. Like putty you think, like putty.

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