first-person

After four thousand years we can__ even prove that reality exists beyond the mind of the first-person dreamer.

I would so hate to be a first-person character! Always on your guard, always having people read your thoughts!

Writing in the first person helps to make clear the author's role in constructing rather than discovering the story/knowledge.

Who, cher monsieur, will sleep on the floor for us? Whether I am capable of it myself? Look, I'd like to be and I shall be. Yes, we shall all be capable of it one day, and that will be salvation.

When you are in trouble, you are the nearest first person who can help you!

Inching into the room, it__ clear something is wrong here. There__ a tingling sensation up my legs and back before I can even really focus on the parlor__ details. There are silhouettes of people, but I can see through them. It__ like shadows were cast and left behind to do as they please. Lost in the surreal sight of them for a moment, I inch further into the room without noticing that some were now moving behind me.There is no warning. I__ suddenly in the air, and moving backward rapidly toward the wall. It__ almost a full second before my body registers the actual pain of the blow my stomach just took. Being hit by a car doesn't even compare to this, and I didn't even see it coming.__or a shadow, you hit like a sledgehammer!_ The words barely escape before something else slams into the base of my skull embedding most of my upper body in the wall and all but removing my head. These things are like Lucy; the disembodied dead who haven__ moved on. I've never met others that can actually touch things physically, they must be fairly potent.I pull my face out of the hole it had been planted in, letting plaster dust fall, coating my chest and legs like snow. Looking around quickly I try to gauge my surroundings. I can__ see them, but I know they__e there. Is one easy night, without a huge dry-cleaning bill, too much to ask for these days?I only have time to dwell on it a moment before my head is bouncing off the hardwood floor; once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession. Now __ick splinters out of my forehead_ can be added to my Saturday night to-do list. Damn it, this is not going as planned.

The day stared back an empty gray, with not a speck of white to give character to the lifeless sky.