Okay, I have written this because I need to practice writing in third person for a piece of creative writing coursework. There is a plot out of it (my sister started the story on here but does not wish to finish it, so I have copied her story and changed it to thrid person and made it my own) but if people don't like it then I have no problem stoping. It is a full on spy, action story with comedy and romance thrown in so you have to love it right? Haha. Anyways, would love to know how third person is and how rubbish it is lol
WARNING! there are some curse words in this story so if it is not your thing please don't read it.
I’m Pointing This At The Target…Right?
“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Annie screamed at her now ex-boyfriend who was staring at her with an open mouth. “You better start moving dick head. I will not have a man slut less than a kilometre away from me. You have ten seconds to pick up your bag and start moving towards that door, or your manhood will meet a very unpleasant future with this baseball bat.”
Elliot scrambled to the door as Annie moved towards him, “I didn’t sleep with her, I swear.”
“Keep moving asshole, my bat might slip. And I walked in on you idiot, how can you even plead innocence?” She gave her bat a cautionary wave to prove her point. She was fed up having such a jerk standing in front of her and the sooner he left the better she would feel. Her day had just escalated into a nightmare from the word go and she didn’t think she could handle anymore. Not only had she caught her boyfriend with another woman she had also totalled her sky blue porche. Her dad was not going to be happy when he found out. This was turning out to be a very bad day indeed.
“Annie, you are completely and utterly bitch crazy” he said, an anxious look crossing his face as he backed up towards the front door, Annie hot on his tail.
“You got that right. Now move that fat ass out of that door as quick as you can slut boy or you’ll be sorry.”
Elliot gave Annie a terrified look before running through the doorway and across the lawn.
“Asshole,” Annie shouted after him, dropping the bat that was cradled in her hands and sinking to the floor, her hands wrapped around her knees. They always run, Annie thought helplessly to herself. She was disappointed once again, like she always knew she would.
Annie had always found it frustrating that guys only wanted to be with her because she was rich, her father powerful and that she lived in a huge mansion. Not once had someone cared about her and not the car she was driving or the clothes she was wearing. The people at her old school expected her to have the best and at the time she had no problem obliging. Yet, money didn’t matter to her anymore, it was only a luxury. All she wanted was to have a functional family and a doting father. That would have been, in her eyes, worth trading the lot.
Speaking of her father Annie looked up at the gold rimmed clock that hung elegantly against the cream walls. “Where the hell is he?” She mumbled to herself. He usually finished work at eight and it was now ten thirty. She sighed realising that he was probably working late like he usually did.
Feeling restless Annie waited for a while on the red love seat feeling her hands twitch like a rabbits whiskers, pondering over the days events, before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Making the largest and coolest sandwich she could muster, with almost every item in the fridge compact between three slices of bread, she sat down. With a huge goofy grin across her face she lifted the ‘God’ sandwich to her mouth. Food, in her opinion, always made everything better.
Amidst the silence that plagued the house like a disease the phone rang out with a loud shrill ring. With a jolt Annie jumped at the sound, causing her sandwich to fall down her ironed white t-shirt, leaving a yellow mustard stain.
“What the hell?” She reached over the counter to the phone feeling miffed and ready to have a bit of fun with whoever had caused yet another bad thing to happen on an already terrible day, “Bonjour, You have reached the hotline for alcohol abuse, please dial the …”
“Annie!” shouted her father, his voice cutting through, in Annie’s opinion, a hilarious joke.
“No, it’s the alcohol addiction hotline” she said, giving a slight chuckle at the end. Her father was late and there was no way she was going to let him off that easily.