The Task:
For this task, you are going to write two 500 word max pieces which represent the same scene but which each take on the perspective of a different character. Like, Katie and Ellen fight over a boy. First write it from Katie's 1st person POV, then again from Ellen's.

Rules:
1. You have one week to submit your story.
2. To reiterate, 500 words or less per piece.
3. Make sure that each piece is set at the same time. It's supposed to be the exact same scene.

The analog clock on the wall is maddening. The ticking noise drones on, like a small man pounding on the inside of my head with a jackhammer. I know it's them. I want to tear it off the wall and throw it on the ground. I want to stomp on it; crush it into tiny little pieces so it never makes another sound again. Nothing that repetitive and irritating should ever exist in this world; it's just torture for those of us able to hear the underlying demonic presence behind such a simple noise.

They're listening.

My hand grips the edge of the chair, fingernails digging in. My neck does an involuntary twitch in sync with the ticking clock as my eyes bore into the man's sitting opposite of me. My jaw clenches as he peers over his glasses, giving me a small glance before he begins scribbling something in his notebook.

"So how have you have been feeling, Gina?"

How have I been feeling? Like any sane person would when they saw demons everywhere, thank you. I know he believes I'm crazy; "paranoid" he calls it. He's wrong. They're everywhere. They pour their essence into anything they can find; animate or inanimate, corrupting them and using them as a way to spy on all of us. His clock, that clock… he has no idea what kind of danger he holds in his very office.

They won't come for me though; not now. They don't know that I know. But they're listening, I know they are.

"Fine," I answer.

I am so freaking far from fine.

"I see," Dr. Jackman replies, scribbling another note. I watch his pen make exaggerated loops as he writes. My eyes shift to his clock just as his gaze falls on me again. "You haven't been seeing any demons lately, then?" he asks. His look suggests that he knows I have.

My heart leaps in my throat though. Stupid fool, doesn't he know they're listening? If they heard him, if they know I know… I'm dead. We're all dead. The whole bloody world would be taken by force if they knew for even a second that we were aware of their presence.

I shoot him a look of warning. "There are no such things as demons, Dr. Jackman," I reply, a slightly hysterical laugh in my tone. My eyes look to the clock again; I could have sworn the hands turned to eyes. My stomach drops to the floor and I'm up and out of my seat before I can even contemplate moving.

"Gina, what are you doing?" Dr. Jackman exclaims as I grab his clock off the wall, throwing it to the ground. My heel connects with the face and it shatters under my weight. I don't realize how hard I'm breathing until it's over. But I smile, looking up at him. We're safe, for now.

"They were listening," I explain, out of breath and voice filled with relief. "I didn't want them to know…"

And now, they never would.

I'm tired. Though it's my last appointment of the day, I still do not want to be here. After my Bipolar patient – who was in the midst of a manic episode – tried to stab me with scissors to get "the bugs out from underneath my skin", I had been held up in the emergency room for half the day. I had to reschedule most of my patients and in all honesty I wish I had just gone home after the whole ordeal. However, I do hate getting behind on my work and it was bad enough I already had to push back three people. I assumed I would be able to deal with a mere two more this evening before I retired home and relaxed with a large glass of Brandy; especially because these two patients do not have a history of violence.

I watch Gina grip the edge of her seat, as if she's holding herself back. She's restless and her paranoia has returned. Though there have been days when she's been alright, today did not seem to be among them. I write 'Restless' in my notes before I look up at her again. "So how have you have been feeling, Gina?" I ask, knowing she doesn't like when I assume.

"Fine."

She doesn't look fine, but I didn't expect the truth. After ten years of being a psychiatrist, I have learned more patients lie than tell the truth, even when presented with a safe space in which to unload.

"I see," I comment, looking back down at my notes and scribbling on the piece of paper, 'Does not seem willing to participate this session. Posture suggests fear.' "You haven't been seeing any demons lately, then?" I inquire, fully aware that she has been.

Terror registers on her face and I'm led to believe she thinks they may be in the room with her. "There are no such things as demons, Dr. Jackman," she replies, trying to laugh casually as if I was being foolish. Yes, she must believe they're in here with us. It worries me that she's demonizing this space; it's meant to be a comfort, not a threat.

Her eyes look at my clock on the wall and before I know it she's up out of her seat, heading for it with determination in her eyes. Oh no. "Gina, what are you doing?" I exclaim, though I fear I know the answer. I watch her heel connect with the face of the clock my grandmother had given me and I wince, hearing the glass shatter beneath her foot.

But then she smiles at me, like a wave of relief passed through her from carrying out her act of vandalism. "They were listening," she explains, seemingly out of breath from her irrational bout of fear "I didn't want them to know…"

I sigh, looking at the ruined remnants of something I held so dear to me. I should have stayed home.

I WON THIS ROUND ;D