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First Person POV:

I glanced up, and my body screamed in alarm. On the darkened path before me, a figure stood. I flipped on the flashlight, shining it at the shadow, but there was nothing in its place — only an empty path that cut through the sparse pine grove.

I sighed, calling my dog back to me. He hadn’t barked, and he usually behaved in a measured fashion whenever he was alarmed. I shook my head, clearing away the hallucination addling my nerves. I knew that was what it was. I could usually tell when another living soul was near me. It was a sixth sense that felt like electricity tickling down my back. I had not felt any of that, so naturally I concurred that it was more than likely an optical illusion surfacing from the depths of my overtired mind. Still, I didn’t want to continue any farther down the path.

I spun around, feeling securer with every step I took back toward civilization. I paused, glancing over my shoulder, and then called the dog back again. He was sniffing at the shadows, tail-wagging, like he always did when he greeted an old friend. But I could see nothing with the light. At least whatever ghost was haunting me meant no malice, or if it did, it had charmed the bite out of my guardian.

I flicked the flashlight off, allowing the moonlight to once again guide my footfalls. I really didn’t want to return to the confines of the four walls I called an apartment or the confines of my office. I just had a feeling, though, that if I turned around and continued on my customary loop that the hallucination that sparked my fear would become a full-blown reality.

– H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

I let his hand slip away, and as I lost the connection, I felt as if I could not breathe. Every thing I knew screamed that I could not let him go; I could not let him walk away without losing a piece of myself. He had been with me every step of the way; he had fought for me, almost died for me; and now, he was leaving — and I had the feeling it was in some strange way also for me. He was selfless in so many ways, but arrogant and brash. He reacted on instinct, forgetting the pleasantries of life and spoke often without tact. I hated that about him until I remember that his pushes made me pull. He had become my moon, ebbing the tides of my life, and I couldn’t continue without his steady rhythm even when he made me want to scream.

And I did just that.

His name crossed my lips in a desperate cry seconds before I had even decided that I could not let him go. My feet carried me at a run on the same path he had just walked. I could still see the slight press of his boots upon the dusty ground. I cried out again as I came to a stop. He stood before me, emotionless and unchanging in posture and expression. But his eyes — the ever soulful gems — spoke to me as they had upon our first meeting. There was hope in them now, as if he was waiting for me to ask. He would not stay, if I did not ask, and I knew I had to swallow my pride or watch him turn his back for the second time that day.

“Stay,” I pleaded. I did not bother with pretense or to guard myself as I had been taught. I wanted nothing to stand between us anymore. Not pride, not arrogance, not selfishness. I only wanted love, his love, and I begged the great spirits to grant me his heart. Mine was already lost to him.

– H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

When I woke, every nerve tingled with the sensation of a thousand pins. My head ached, but that was second to the pain in my stomach. I groaned and shifted against the soft cushions beneath me. I cautiously opened my eyes, first cracking one and then the other when I was certain the blazing sun would not onslaught my sensitive eyes. I watched the cold stone of the ceiling, thankful for the darkness that surrounded me, as I tried to remember how I had gotten here.

–H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

I could feel the pulse of the fire even before I could see the flame. It’s very essence was my life’s blood, a part of my being even as it consumed. I know one day its burn would end me, but tonight, I was safe. She was here with me, keeping the pulsing flame at bay with her liquid calm. It took only one glance into her blue eyes for my anxiety to melt away. I trusted her as a child trusted his parent to guide him. I knew she would never lead me astray, even when I fought against the path she lead me on. However, one day, I knew I’d look back with regret if I followed my original course and ignored my guiding star.

– H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

The river had turned to mud, oozing along with the viscosity of honey. I paused, looking at the brown substance and again over my shoulder. It was my only escape, and I knew it was better to chance the river than face what was following me — so I let it carry me away. Surrounded by the darkness, I still felt apart from the polluted stream. I was following its course, but I was not one with it, and it somehow secured my heart — even as the organ lurched when I fell over the waterfall. I braced for the impact, wondering if this was the moment of death, only to open my eyes to a clearing stream and my feet firmly beneath me.

– H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

When death was your constant companion, you never stopped to question why. It became the normal ray of existence, like a shadow in the sun or a ragged breath after an intense battle. You learned to live with it.

I was the dealer of the death, the fire prince, the monster that came in the night to destroy a person’s world with flame. I could hear their murmurs calling me the devil when I past by, and I knew it was fear alone that stayed their hands from ending my existence. Many had tried, and yet here I still stood — a child, not quite a man, but something evil in the world. I was what I hated, and I knew that alone would one day kill me.

–H. Danielle Crabtree

First Person POV:

The sky burned like fire, an orange glow that always reminded me of the night paradise fell. I grabbed her hand, pulling her through the pine forest at a faster pace. He was coming; it was the only thing it could mean. He had scorched the sky to destroy the night, relieving them of their veil. There was nowhere to hide now, not even in the dark, but still, all I could think to do was run and lead her away from what was coming. I could already hear the dogs with their masters, and the pounding horse hooves against the forest floor.

A fire flickered within, and I could feel the flames from my fingertips. I was loosing control in the midst of my fear, and it did not help that she was begging me to stop, pleading with me to tell her what was wrong. But how did you tell an angel that a demon sought her life? And how did you tell an angel that the demon was your kin? And how did you tell that same angel that at one point it was me who was supposed to end her in favor of another’s greed? I was no saint in this story, but I found myself loving her still.

–H. Danielle Crabtree

I was in a bad mood, and so I took a darker approach in the first person POV with this character to also help me shed some of my negativity. I’m a spitfire when angry and apparently very scary. Writing helps release the troubles of life, no matter what character you’re writing. It’s part of my love affair with it.

Next POV toy:

Stubborn. I don’t know how many times that word had been used to describe me. I loathed it, but never so much as when the tone accompanying it was as scathing and harsh as the profane nouns that followed it. The words and tone together made my entire body burn like a flame, and that fire coursed my veins until not even the flexing of my hands could expel the energy. It compounded with every breath until that all too familiar tick would force a battle between my will and instincts. And my instincts said to strike; I wanted to let loose and let the object of my anger feel the full weight of my brick-wall personality carried out through my fist.

But one detail held me back.

There was only one thing that I hated more than someone calling me on my major personality flaw and that was a man who would dare hit a woman. So, with a growl, I backed down, kept my mouth shut — though I wanted to call her on her own more colorful personality traits and perhaps a few profanities as well — and headed for the gym as she continued to berate me for being a stubborn, inconsiderate jerk.

I slammed the door behind me and took a deep breath. One of the blue punching bags had my name on it, and I was going to beat it until the fire was out. Then, if I was lucky, I could face her again — this time with patience instead of stubborn resistance.

She was worth it.

Again, first person snippets meant to help me open my mind a bit in my original writing. (Nothing to do with me personally). –Dani

Exercise:

It was strange to wake up from that dream after so many years of nothing. Seeing his blue eyes that held the warmth of a tropical sea made me want to melt into the sands on the shore so that I could feel his warmth wash over me. He was a part of my past, and I had so much to look forward to that I could not let this little piece of history pop up and ruin everything. I had worked hard to forget him, what we had, and I had moved on — or so I hoped. Clearly, I had not let go enough to escape his effects, or the doubts I thought I had put to rest — even if it was only a dream.

I sighed.

I was on the eve of blissful happiness, and he had to come back to haunt my dreams and make me question whether I could go through with it. What if I was wrong and my future had always been with the love of my past? What if I was settling? No, that was unfair. Love is one of the greatest truths, and I loved deeply — family, friends, the man who had given me this ring, and the man that had shattered my heart. I loved him still; love wasn’t always enough, though, when on the quest to find that one person who complimented your soul.

– H. Danielle Crabtree

A friend of mine made a suggestion since I’ve been struggling with writer’s block a lot lately. She told me to write a little bit of something in first person as a way to get into the writing and become the characters. If I cannot be the characters, I find it difficult to write – and she understood that about my dilemma. Anyway, since I started this little exercise, I’ve been writing more. Not necessarily novel-length portraits of life, but short snippets of fun that fuel my imagination.

So here we go:

I could taste it. It was like meat that had been cooked over a fire too long. I wanted to blanch, but like food, I could not live without the air this scent drifted upon. I had to breathe, and with it came the taste of death. – H. Danielle Crabtree