Creative Writing Course Exercise - Point of View

Person One 
I know she's sleeping around. I know it! I've always known it. Before I married her I knew she was, well, loose. "More pricks then a pin cushion" was what my mates had said. But I didn't listen. I loved her. I was infatuated with her. But, deep down, I knew.

The small changes in her movements. The sudden increase in her wearing makeup on weekdays. The new clothes. And finally, when she changed the passcode on her iPhone. Oh yes, I checked! So, I couldn't help myself really. I'd worked it out. I'd accessed her work calendar on her laptop when she went for a pee on Tuesday night. Caltex meeting at 3pm. Ha, haa. Yeah, Caltex! That's what she'd put in years ago when we'd catch up. Ha! Caltex indeed..

So, that was it. I was going to bust her and the seedy little creep she's been shagging! Leaving work at 2:45pm I race and weave my way through the Newtown traffic like Barry Sheen on a mission! At 3:15pm, I carefully insert the key in the lock, taking time not to make much noise. I'm stealth incarnate. Once open I run for the bedroom and yes! There she was, the tramp! In bed, naked. But where's the lover? Where is he, I ask myself. "Where is he!?" I demand of her.

She says nothing. So I search the flat. I check the bathroom, I check the spare bedroom. Nothing. No one! Finally, I try the balcony. And, there he is! Bastard! Cheeky bastard! He's clinging to the balcony floor edge precariously, only in his boxers, fingers white with the weight of his body being beckoned to the grassy common area, three floors down. The grassy common area that'd soon to be his last bang! I slowly, purposely, press my foot down on the fingers of his left hand, smiling and ignoring is pathetic pleading. He thinks me mad, the dog! Konief! Thew! I spit at him. He thinks me a dog! Shortly, he'll think no more.

Left hand gone and arm flailing. Now, my friend, your right. Again, I press firmly, grimly, on the fingers of his right hand, starting slowly with the little finger, then then third and then the index. And whoosh! He's gone! Tumbled to a heap on the grass below. But no! He's still alive! No! What to do, what to do? The fridge! Yes. The fridge. That'll do the trick! I'd like to see you live through this one!

Faaaack! Heavier then I expected. Umph! On to the railing and slowly, taking aim, a final push and death is on his merry way. So long sucker! I think. And bang! Christ! An awful sound! Remorse! Guilt! Futility! The large kitchen knife? Yes, the kitchen knife. Relief...

And that, St, Peter, is why I am here at your beautiful, pearly gates...

Person Two
A hot sunny day in Newtown. Christ it's lovely! I may be unemployed but I get my days. Plenty of time to worry about work! I've got my whole life ahead of me so why fret? Big night last night, though. Bloody Tequila! Ah well. You only live once. A big fry up should do the trick! Let's see...popping the suction on the heavy white door, the crack of light revealing eggs, bacon, open and half gone. And snags. Lovely jubblie.

Lashings of oil, throw the bacon in, snags, and crack a few eggs, the sizzle and wosh! Pan on fire. And wosh! That loosely fitting gas pipe finally gives way and wosh! A bang. Christ what an awful sound! I'm blown out the window through the open balcony doors but wow! Miraculously, I've managed to grab on, precariously, to the balcony edge of the flat below. Phew! Close one! I'm there for what seems hours. Firstly trying to right myself and finally, screaming, pitifully, for help.

And so it arrives, or so it seems. Eyes as wild as a banshee. Snarling venom and filth. Good God! He stark raving mad! Help me I plead, WHAT!? He's stamping on my fingers. WHAT!? He's smiling. Woe. Only my right hand left. I'll surely not survive this madman, my heart pounding wildly, and head all a spin. And so I fall. A life of regret rushing through my brain as, with a sudden thump, my journey ends. Oh the pain! I must have broken everything! I can't move a muscle. But, I'm alive! I'm alive! Ha, haaaa. I'm still alive you mad ba.....

And that, St, Peter, is why I am here at your very fine pearly gates...

Person Three
She's such a tramp. Practically begging me to sleep with her. OK' so I'm a right flirt at work. Can't help myself. The chicks just can't resist my cheeky charm! So, I thought, OK, I'll shag her. She's not bad, and from what I hear from all the others, she rides like the winner in the Caulfield Cup. Why not. OK, so the husbands a crazy, hot tempered Lebanese fella and likely to kill you if you get caught but theres the thrill in such entanglements.

So, imagine my surprise when, only 15 minutes in to the encounter, her naked in the bed and myself grabbing a glass of water ahead of sorting her out the wrath of Khan comes storming into the frankly tatty and dishevelled apartment. You could hear him a mile off! Bloody elephant! I'm not a fighter. Sod that! Where to hide? What to do, what to do. The fridge! Yes, the fridge!

And that, St, Peter, is why I am here at your somewhat shabby pearly gates...