In today’s challenge, you’ll tell the same story from two or more unique perspectives. You can choose from the prompts below, or create your own prompt. The length of your story is up to you — you can write a sentence from each perspective, or whole poems from each perspective or a paragraph from each point of view. The structure is loose so that you can adapt the challenge as you see fit.
- A waitress welcomes an elderly regular as he takes his seat at the counter in the diner. The man just got word his wife is dying of cancer. The cook watches through the order window.
Mr. Walters had such panache, Julia thought. He wore a houndstooth cap, dark blue blazer, perfectly creased pants, and every morning when he reached the counter, he would exchange his prescription sunglasses for his reading glasses. As usual, Mr. Walters signaled to Julia even though she had already stationed herself in front of him.
“Mr. Walters. How are you today?” She chirped despite the fear knocking her heart.
“Well my dear, I’ve been better.” He took in a shuddery breath; his lower lip quivered. “She’s got lung cancer.”
“Oh dear. I’m so sorry.” Julia didn’t know what else to say and began laying out napkins and silverware for two.
Mr. Walters placed a cool, veined hand on hers when she placed the second fork. He shook his head slowly, twice.
Nobody else in the diner saw the sorrow pass between server and customer that day.
That Julia; she was one fine piece of ass. Roman picked out a piece of chicken from his front teeth, and nibbled on it. He imagined rough sex with her. He surveyed the diner; pretty full for a Tuesday lunchtime, not bad. No tickets in the window though so he had time to watch all the losers. Table ten; the BLT. Roman smiled. The dude in a shirt and tie took a bite out of the sandwich, not knowing that the bacon had already been thoroughly licked. Roman scratched his beard and pushed the white trilby back on his head. Table six; the tuna melt. Taste good, Mrs stupid fathead? I hope so, it’s got my boogers mixed in for a smooth, creamy texture. Roman’s quiet chuckle faded when he returned his apathetic gaze to Julia. What was going on with the old guy? Holding hands? And where was his stuck up old lady? Roman pieced it together; the bitch had croaked. Oh well. Perhaps he’d give the guy something extra special today.