Point of View

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Tomorrow I am going to re-write my short story Life's Last Fight and repost it with a different point of view and will post an editted version from the original point of view. I have been thinking about what point of view to use in the story I am writing and would like to see what you guys think of the two pieces, I have run out of time and could not finish the new version of it. If anyone has a good example of how point of view can affect a piece or two pieces with drastically different points of view I would love to see them posted. Thanks.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Life’s Last Fight

Warren stood on the heaving deck of the Higgins Boat. The smell of saltwater and vomit inundated the air. The sound of machine gun fire and artillery filled his ears. He felt the dread solidify inside him and turn his limbs to Jello. He dared not look up; he knew he would never do his duty if he saw those ahead of him being shot down by the German guns. As the boat neared the shore, he grasped his rifle and crouched down; it would be a pity to die before he reached France. Not long now. The ship suddenly shuddered and slid to a stop. The boatswain dropped the ramp and out they ran. Warren followed quickly. The first four men were immediately struck down and Warren was covered in blood. He jumped into the water, his heart hammering in his ears. He fell under the surface, panic overcoming him. They were not on the beach. He grappled with his gear, as he slowly sunk farther from life. He threw down his heavy burden and burst above the waves, salt water drenching his clothes. Rifle in hand, he sloshed ahead.

He tore the plastic from his rifle. M1 Garand, eight shots, nothing more beautiful to an infantryman on a hostile beach. He charged onto the sand. He flew into the beach, his first taste of France fresh in his mouth. He spat the sand out and pulled himself up, shaking the ringing from his ear. He ran again, his breath heaving in and out almost rhythmically. He tripped and fell behind an obstacle into a pool of blood. He ran, ignoring the machine gun fire and pounding of artillery shells, past the dying and the dead. He ran for the shingle; terror filled his heart. He dropped his rifle, he tripped. He fell into the shingle, amidst the few other brave souls who had ran the width of the beach. Bangalores! The cry filled his ears. He grabbed a dead man’s rifle and prepared to charge into the Lion’s Den. He covered his head and waited. The bangalores shattered the wall, they all stood. He gathered the last of his courage and stood. He clambered up the shattered shingle and stood before the concrete behemoths, shooting fire from their innards. He charged and fell. The first to fall upon the top of the shingle.

At least he made it to France.





I am sorry that I have not had the time to rewrite it from the first person, I had a major spyware attack today because my father uses a bad spyware program and deleted spybot and ad-aware. I am going to write it tomorrow. The edits to the original are as follows: added comma after as the boat neared the shore (first paragraph); added semicolon after he grasped his rifle and crouched down (after previous edit); added comma between rifle in hand and he sloshed ahead; removed comma after He tripped and fell behind an obstacle (second paragraph); changed among to amidst the few other brave souls, directly after that changed that to who had ran the width of the beach (second paragraph). Thats all of them. Most of them were to improve timing and flow, two of them were to make the words grammatically correct or just better for the sentence.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

Life's Last Fight

I am standing in a boat, just of the French coast. My knees quiver with fear, but I cannot fall, there is no room. I look to my right, my sergeant nods reassuringly to me. I can smell salt, vomit and gun smoke. Something slams into the boat I duck and machine gun fire fills my ears, a sound like ripping canvas. What did they say that was? Oh, an MG-42. I can feel my nerve seep out of me, into the wet metal deck and out into the sea. If I do not get a hold of myself I will never find it again. I crouch down and cling to my rifle, the plastic crinkles under the desperate vice that is my hands. If nothing else I must reach France, then none can call me a coward and none could say I shirked my duty.

I stumble forward; the boat has hit something, now or never. The ramp falls and the beach lies before me, full of death, obstacles and shell holes. Hell on Earth.

The men run forward, I follow as fast as I can. Those before me fall, I push through them. No time to wipe the blood from my face. I jump to the ground.

I am immersed; I tear the heavy ammo and equipment from my body. I finally throw it down and burst above the water, gunfire fills my ears again. I never knew I would be comforted by such a horrible sound. I grasp my rifle ever tighter and run ahead, over the sandbar and through yet more water.

As I reach the shore I tear the plastic from my beautiful rifle. I quickly fire off eight shots and dive behind an obstacle. I reload and run forward again. My face slams mercilessly into the sand; I taste blood and stand up shaking the ringing from my ears. My lungs heave; in, out, in out. An obstacle ahead! Salvation, safety from the roaring death of the beach. In my haste I trip and fall into a pool of blood. Where could this have come from I don’t see a body. My foot snaps a bone, it is all that remains. I notice the crater, helmet and rifle. Shuddering I pull myself up, away from the deathtrap of the obstacle.

I brave all hazard and run the last stretch, bullets pound the sand around me. My rifle falls and I fall into the shingle, safety at last. Looking about I notice a corpse, even here there is death. His rifle is mine now, he no longer needs it and mine is back, through five feet of pure death.

BANGALORES!

I shudder, the wall will be breached, we will go over the top and charge the monolithic concrete bunkers. The very machines of destruction that I have thus far escaped. The shingle shudders and flies apart.

I wait a second; the other men do not hesitate. I climb the rise and fling myself into the open.

My ears ring, the Americans will not stop their suicidal advance. 1200 rpm’s should be enough to stop anyone. Why won’t they stop? The shingle shatters, one hole. Barely enough, they will need more than that to storm our stronghold.

One hesitates, and is lost. Such a brave soul, he must have braved all the hazards of the beach. Almost a pity to gun him down now, when he is in France and has displayed such courage, but I do. It is my duty; I owe it to the fatherland.

[master of the puppets]

very good improvement, i love how you guys divide it up into small chunks, i can't really harness that, any way great story if not sorrowful.

[Craterus]

very good improvement, i love how you guys divide it up into small chunks, i can't really harness that, any way great story if not sorrowful.

Small chunks - paragraphs. ~D ~:cheers: ~;)

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I like to use paragraphs and sentence length to set the pace of the story, short sentences=fast. A few long paragraphs seems to be slower at times and short paragraphs are little snippets of fast action.

Thanks! I really tried to make this better, but still the same story. What do you think of the POV switch at the end?

[master of the puppets]

for a few seconds there i had no clue what was happening to tell you the truth, but a quick reread showed that it was a german. mabey you can make it a bit clearer by adding something like "in the dark of the bunker i looked down upon them" or mabey you wanted it to be abstract in that esteem. i dunno your writing the story, i attempted (and failed miserably) at writing a story that jumped once. started with a roman legionair on the battlefeild, he is fighting and is killed by a swordstroke, not missing a beat the story instantly went to that killer who fights for a while and is killed by several arrows, in an instant it is in the eyes of one of those archers, suddenly barbarian cavalry are rushing at the archers, death imminent, before he dies it switches to the lead cavalryman who sees the archers and speeds full charge, they are intercepted by legionairs who hit them in the flank the cavalry are killed, arrows suddenly rain down upon the legionairs,they form testudo, the view switches to those barbarian archers who are struck by cavalry, the cavalry man looks around and declares victory. in the end it gave the impression of utter chaos, mabey you dso it better.

[Uesugi Kenshin]

I know, changing the POV like that is tough. I wanted to make it a bit of a fluid yet suprising shift, like you would not expect him to die and all that, but it ended up a bit too choppy. As a writer I think it is the hardest thing I have attempted thus far, I am probably going to release an editted version with a smoother transition, but I am probably going to move on to something new soon, more short stories. Maybe something with a POV shift, so I can practice. Thanks for all of the comments, it will help me choose POV in the future.

[The Stranger]

good story

[Uesugi Kenshin]

The Finest Hour

The sand swirled in the wind as the scorching sun beat down upon us. We were all alone, none of our allies had come to aid us. We were alone, left high and dry, without support. We were all tired, so tired. We could barely stand in our heavy plate, many of us shunned our armor and wore only the padding. I dropped my breastplate and instead wore a cloak I had taken from a Saracen. Even this was not much better, the musky smell of the man permeated the cloak. We coulkd see the dustcload thrown up by our foes. So many of them, yet we would not retire from the field. This was where we would stand, or fall. My heavy sword hung loosely from my hip, my shield embedded in the soft sand. My gear was being shipped back home, it was no use in that hellish desert.

I stood beside my brothers, all eighty of them. The only warrriors left standing after our crusade to retake the holy land. Perhaps the muslims are right, maybe our God abandoned us on that horrible plain so that we would never again bother his chosen sons. I never thought this at the time. If a warrior doubts his cause he will surely die in battle. Besides I was young and eager, even if God did abandon us I was confident in my skills and my brothers.

The Saracens are near now, I unsheath my sword and lift my shield from the sand. My brothers do the same, if only more of them had lived. They were my life for those fateful days. I lived with them, ate with them and killed with them. There can never be a closer bond between men.

They charge, I fell into the gaurd position. It was almost comforting, though death was possibly a mere instant away my training had conditioned me to find comfort in the pose.

I slash out at the nearest Saracen, he falls and blood spatters my face. I kick him and free my sword. I reel backwards, a mighty blow shattered my shield and almost knocks me from my feet. I grasp my sword in two hands and slash hard and low, his bowels flow freely as he falls to the sand. I parry a blow, no need to protect the blade now my life is more precious. I stab the offending man in the the gut and kick my sword free again. I feel my brothers falling around me. My heart turns to ice, what if they all fall?

I shake the fear away and keep fighting. The next spear wielding Saracen to charge me is decapitated, during a momentary lull in the battle I stoop and gather up his shield, he has no more use for it. The screams of the dying fill the air, but a more horrible sound fills my heart with dread.

Arrows.

I can hear them whistling through the air, I stoop and stab a man low, in the crotch. In the same fluid motion I lift my shield and guard my body against the arrows. One strikes my shield, it splinters and cracks. I try to drop it, but it is stuck. The arrow has struck my wrist and held fast, I cannot extract it without leaving myself open to attack. I grit my teeth and fight through the pain.A fierce flash of pain and heat spreads through my back, I fall to my knees. As I fall i see the man who has struck me down. That man is a mere boy, no more than 15, but still he dropped me. So few of us still breathe, the battle has died down and I can hear the few remaining men gasp for ragged breaths, clinging to life. So sure we are of our God yet we refuse to give up life and travel to Heaven. Humanity is hypocrisy.

I hear galloping, the horses of some nobles, come to exult in their victory. With the last of my strength I force my hand tyo release my sword. Maybe they will mistake me for one of their own? God knows I am dirty enough to share their complexion. Maybe I will yet live, in this robe, nailed to this shield. They lift me up. The pain is unimaginable, I can feel my blood soak my cloak, but I cannot gasp out, the pain is past that. It is so great I am paralyzed. I slowly fade, fade away. My vision blurring and the circle of light fading away. Mys enses dull and finally I succumb to the darkness.



I may start doing a series of these if I get more ideas for it. I have a few, but I may start doing a series with a later or previously done short story. Hope you enjoyed it! BTW he isn't quite dead yet in the end. Woops meant to put t6his in Short Tales, oh well it is a new POV.