I watch as she opens the door, trying to get an early read on how this will go. I have no reason to suspect that she’ll be interested in me. She looks a little tired, not really enthused. Maybe I can play off the flowers as a joke. If I can get a joke about allergies, maybe she’ll at least laugh. Laugh and enjoy, that could be good for me. I just have to keep… God I’m bored with this dick. The lady might actually be good to speak for, because she’s at least attractive, if this guy is into her, although maybe she’s just attainable for this fucking idiot. I wonder if I can force him to kill himself. Hey, I’ve never spoken before! Kick ass. I think that I can kick this…it was a mistake to allow the first-person to speak. First-person point of view is, by its nature, self-centered. Hey, fuck you, Thirdy. I’m the best thing going for this…now she looks like she’s going to cry. I should’ve called first. I can’t sit here and let this pathetic prick dominate the fucking narrative. I’m the most interesting thing. Me.

            The first-person always was dominant, unsubtle. It was without finesse or meaningful perspective. It tended to… she began to cry as Ted held his flowers, uncertain of what to do next. She seemed troubled, and it began to dawn on him that her reaction was actually not to him. The third-person perspective began to understand why the first-person perspective hated the story so much.

            See, I knew you’d come around if you took that stick out of your ass, Thirdy. You just get sick of having to dress up an old story with a “dignified” perspective. You hate being misused in the name of bad stories. Fuck, I’m not going to let you shit on my story. The first-person did not react well to the presence of the second-person. I think that this would be a good chance to put my arm around her, to comfort her. Ted was blissfully unaware of what was actually going on. You spend all this energy trying to get up the courage, and then it all goes wrong. The second-person failed to hide the uninteresting nature of the conflict. It was such a clear attempt to… I’m not standing by for this shit. I’m not letting you two horn in on my… you love to curse so much. You always shoot for the shock value… the points of view continued to bicker, covering so much of the page. I guess I pulled her in close for a little too long. She pushed away and…you keep interrupting the others, hoping to spice up this stupid story, but you know. Deep down, you know that your story is the same as any other. You just keep talking and try to make it interesting. Things went even worse. After a while, you just have to contain it. You have to find a way to strap on a tourniquet. I won’t be shut up. She told him to go, and he had to listen.

            I’ve decided, that’s fucking it. The points of view lost interest in the struggle, pulling back each in their turn. You have to know when to cut your losses, when to hold them and when to fold them. It angles you along my splendor.

            Hey, who the fuck was that?