For three weeks, I participated in a writing challenge over at Frankie’s Wining Room with a focus on points of view. Last week’s challenge, hosted by Katie Rene Johnson, took a turn in a slightly different direction, and this week we follow up on that. Each piece in this series is intended to stand alone, but if you (like me) enjoy seeing the chronological progression of things in writing, I recommend you read excerpts in order. The What’s In A Name writing challenge begins in At Your Service, and the first in this series of directly linked excerpts can be found in Fractured Kaleidoscope. The entire series of writing challenges began in Illness, Achievements, and Challenges. Enjoy!

Percy waited for the crowd to dwindle, lingering to study the architecture he knew so well and the burnt-golden-yellow-orange interior design theme he hadn’t seen before. High above the city on the sixty-second floor, the clouds and the mist gathered outside that window—the large observation window they’d been building the framework for when he last saw Charles. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but he knew it was necessary. He didn’t need a fancy degree in psychology or a series of letters behind his name to tell him he needed to return to the scene of the incident, and the last thing he was about to do was see a shrink.

The three figures at the window silhouetted in the late morning sun put away their cameras and phones and moved on, leaving it clear for a moment. It was now or never. Percy stepped forward and steeled himself to look out the window—and down at the ground.

Percival Blake. The whispered sigh drifted through the air, penetrating the mist and filtering between the panes of glass. He ignored it. Once upon a time he had lived in a small Midwestern town where everybody knew everybody, but he had been in the city long enough now to know no one knew anyone. He swallowed hard, fisted his hand, and placed it on the glass.

Leaning his forehead on his fist, Percy squeezed his eyes shut to avoid shedding tears. He focused his attention on his breathing in an attempt to rein in the herd of wild horses thundering in his chest. Out. In. Out. And opened his eyes.

There. Right there is where Charles—

Percival Blake. The sigh was stronger, harder to ignore.

He leaned back from the windowpane and glanced around. The hallway was virtually empty now, not a single figure within shouting range, much less whispering range. Who had said his name? Last he checked, he was no Ebenezer Scrooge in need of a visit from any Jacob Marley, yet the back of his neck prickled with growing awareness. Could it be…?

“Charles?” He breathed, barely above a whisper.

Once again, the sigh returned. Forgive me.

So much for holding in the tears.

Now it’s your turn. Leave a comment or send me a message to give feedback. Check out the writing challenge for yourself if you are curious to see how different individuals have approached the same material, or if you would also like to participate.

Until the next time…