1st 2nd 3rd

It was Sunday night. I was balled up in my bean bag chair and watching the latest episode of my favorite TV show. My allergies had been playing whack-a-mole with different parts of my body, so I had taken some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. So, I was relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to smoking a pound of pot and listening to Jeff Bridges read a microwave oven instruction manual. I dozed off for a split second. Then, suddenly, I felt uneasy. My chest itched. I looked down and crawling up to my neck was a centipede. I was doped up, tired, and lying in my favorite spot. Then, all of a sudden, an ungodly creature began portraying the 1st Infantry division storming the beaches of Normandy (played by my chin). I freaked out like a 10 year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment. Worst part of it is, the damn thing got away.
It was Sunday night. You were balled up in your bean bag chair and watching your favorite TV show. Allergies were playing havoc on your body, so you took some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. You were relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to a Tuesday night in a Turkish bath in ’92 with Kurt Cobain. You rested your eyes for a split second. Then, suddenly, you felt uneasy. Your chest itched. You looked down and crawling up to your neck was a centipede. You were out of your element, and the centipede was advancing like an unstoppable rebel force. You spazzed out like a five year old meeting Barney. You looked foolish. Worst part is, in the frenzied flailing of arms, hair, and a hundred tiny legs, the thing got away.
It was Sunday night. He was balled up in his bean bag chair, watching his favorite TV show. His allergies were wreaking Havoc on his body, so he took some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. He was relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to a Wednesday afternoon at Charlie Sheen’s house. He closed his eyes for a split second. Suddenly, he felt uneasy. Something seemed to be moving on his chest. He looked down to notice a centipede climbing up his body. He was vulnerable, and the centipede acting the part of invading conquistador. It might as well have been passing out blankets to the indigenous population, it seemed so dangerous to him. He jerked his body about in much the same way he envisions how Christians act when he’s not around. After all the commotion was through, and he had convinced himself the creature wasn’t in his hair, he realized it had gotten away.
Strangely, some statements don’t “feel” right between points of view. In third person, it feels more natural to leave out feelings and stick more to the meat of the story. At the same time, it feels as though there needs to be more meat in the story for it to be effective. It is also more “voyeuristic,” so I felt the need to exaggerate the situation that was in my mind. Second person seems more passive and hypothetical, making me feel like I can get away with more obscure references and strange statements. First person is the way I usually write and so it just seems more normal to me.

D. Ryan