Choose something interesting that has happened too you in the past year and write about it. Write in THIRD PERSON (using the pronoun “he: or “she”, and make yourself the main character in the story.
This is unfinished and untitled, but here it goes.
For some reason, at the very moment that her husband was getting beaten up in a dark alley only two blocks away from their home, Miranda got the urge to have some ice cream. And not just any kind of ice cream. She wanted the decadent kind, and only Ben and Jerry’s would do.
She walked to the fridge completely unaware that her husband was lying in an alley. She grabbed the pint of ice cream, her hand wrapped in paper towels in order to avoid imminent frostbite, and strutted to the oversized recliner that sat obtrusively in the corner of the living room. A quick glance at the antique wall clock, reminded her that her husband was more than an hour late, and yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, Miranda was not worried.
“To hell with him,” she thought aloud as she reloaded her spoon with another mountain of ice cream. “To hell with him indeed.”
She should have been worried. Any wife, who claimed to have a mental and emotional connection to her husband, should have been able to tell that things were not going well. And for Scott, things had gone terribly wrong. But, Miranda, all-knowing Miranda, knew nothing except that ice cream was what she needed. So Scott lay in the alley, his cell phone, his spirit, and his face broken.
Nearing the halfway mark in the pint, as usual, she told herself that she would save the rest for Scott. She stood up, proud that this time she was actually listening, and sash-shayed to the kitchen. As she passed the large window that faced the street, Miranda took a moment to check for Scott’s car. It was nearing 9:15 PM and another hour would be added to Scott’s tardiness, but she still did not look worried.
“He must have had a meeting.” She smiled, shook her head yes, and walked to the freezer. “That’s it! He had a meeting that ran later than it was supposed to. His cell phone is dead because as usual he left his charger home. Of course, he forgot to charge his phone last night.” She reached into the freezer and placed the half-emptied container of ice cream between the frozen diet meals and the ice cream cake. “He’ll be home any minute now.”
With that, she grabbed the container again, slammed the freezer door, walked to the recliner and plopped herself down to wait. She dug ravenously at the remaining ice cream as she tried hard to convince herself that her husband was fine. And then she got a feeling.
Miranda did not get “feelings” very often. In fact, the only time she had gotten one before was when her father passed away. She wanted to ignore this feeling that nagged in the pit of her stomach forcing her to stop eating her ice cream. But, she could not. She could not ignore that something was wrong. She hung her head low and tried not to cry.
The taste of the ice cream nauseated her. Or maybe it was the feeling that her husband was not coming home, because he couldn’t come home. Either way, she again carried the ice cream container passed the window and into the kitchen. But this time she threw it away. She was amazed at first. Her eyes widen and she almost reached back into the garbage to grab it, but she stopped herself. She let the trashcan lid slam shut, and jumped at the sound it made. Now, she was scared.
“Nine-forty-five,” Miranda thought out loud. She repeated it again trying hard not to cry. She was still clinching the spoon and the now warm metal irritated the palm of her hand. She felt herself let go, although from the shocked look of her face, it was clear that she wanted to hang on to the spoon as if her life depended on it. When the clank of the metal crashed on the floor, Miranda could no longer squelch her tears.
They began slowly at first. One by one, and then two by two. Within a matter of minutes, she was sobbing hysterically. Her sobs echoed in the kitchen, and she felt weak and lightheaded. Her legs wobbled beneath her. As she tried to regain her balance, she cried harder and harder.
“Pull it together,” she heard herself say. “Right now! Pull yourself together.” She was yelling at herself and before she knew it, she had slid to the floor. She swayed back and forth trying desperately to rock herself calm. It was obvious that she would not be able to find her husband in her current state. In fact, she would not be able to do anything if she lost her head, and she tried hard to calm down.
It was raining now. She could hear the menacing drops beating against the roof of her big empty house. It always felt so empty when Scott was not home. It felt deserted, lonely, and overwhelming and she couldn’t imagine having to feel this way for the rest of her life. The rain pounded hard against the roof and she heard the wind scream in the distance. It was then, with the screeching sounds of nature bellowing in the background, that she decided to find her husband.
It would be a VERY, VERY long novel! It’s amazing how something takes on a different tone when we switch narratives! You write very well!