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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Ruff, ruff!<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>End of the Road<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>700ish words<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I’m looking for opinions on point of view, first or third…<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>POV – Third Person:<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Claudia clenched the steering wheel of her old Chevy and squinted at the exit sign ahead. Was it the end of the road? She’d covered more than 1,000 uncaptivating miles of interstate from Colorado to Michigan , and where was she? In the middle of nowhere, She groaned. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Claudia had jumped at the offer, her only offer, to work as a reporter for a small town newspaper. She hadn’t bragged to her fellow graduates about the job, but the opportunity was a thousand times more attractive than moving back home with her parents. That would be a terrific let down after graduating a year early from college. Why a year early? The same reason. She had enrolled in classes year round to avoid summers stuck as home with her Mom and Dad. After 20 years, she was immune to their arguing, but it wasn’t her idea of fun to return to their crazy mind battles. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>. She whooped when the exit came into view. “Lake Holland, Michigan, population 7,700.” Easing off the accelerator, she veered off the highway. Abruptly, towering trees encased the road and blocked the sun. The road narrowed so suddenly that she pumped the brake to avoid swerving off the edge. Lights out. She swiped off her sunglasses and was relieved to see a pull out wide enough for her boat of a car. She slowed to a stop and gulp for air. If there was one thing she dreaded, it was darkness, especially in the middle of the day. Born with night blindness, Claudia feared tunnels, caves, basements and spaces that swallowed the light she desperately needed to see.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Her pupils enlarged slowly, leaking additional detail onto the back of her retina. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Lake Holland State Park Entrance,” read a characteristic forest service sign. That sounded enticing, but first things first. Claudia advanced her vehicle back onto the two-lane highway. The road turned away from the woods into the sunlight revealing a picturesque village nestled in a valley.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>At first view, the village appeared to be on fire. Oak and hickory trees glowed in the fall sunshine.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Chapter One<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>End of the Road<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>POV First Person<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I clenched the steering wheel of my old Chevy and squinted at the exit sign ahead. Was it the end of the road? I’d covered more than 1,000 uncaptivating miles of interstate from Colorado to Michigan to launch my career, and where was I? In the middle of nowhere, I groaned. I had jumped at the offer, my only offer, to work as a reporter for a small town newspaper. I didn’t brag to my fellow graduates about the dead end job, but the opportunity was a thousand times better than moving back home with my parents. That would be a real letdown after raduating a year early from college. Why a year early? The same reason. I had enrolled in classes year round to avoid summers stuck as home with Mom and Dad. After 20 years, I was immune to their arguing, but it wasn’t my idea of fun to return to their crazy mind battles. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>. I whooped when the exit came into view. “Lake Holland, Michigan, population 7,700.” Easing off the accelerator, I veered off the highway. Abruptly, towering trees encased the road and blocked the sun. The road narrowed so suddenly that I pumped the brake to avoid swerving off the edge. It was lights out. I threw my sunglasses onto the dash and was relieved to find a pull out wide enough for my boat of a car. I slowed to a stop and gulp for air. If there was one thing I dreaded it was darkness, especially in the middle of the day. Born with night blindness, I feared tunnels, caves, basements and spaces that swallowed the light I desperately needed to see.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My pupils enlarged slowly, leaking additional detail onto the back of my retina. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Lake Holland State Park Entrance, read a characteristic forest service sign. That sounded enticing, but first things first. I advanced my vehicle back onto the two-lane highway. The road fortunately turned away from the woods back into the sunlight revealing a picturesque village nestled in a valley.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>At first view, the village appeared to be on fire. Oak and hickory trees glowed in the fall sunshine.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>