Three points of view, one writer?

Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene. Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. I can’t believe that little gray haired ole lady is knitting a red sweater.  Of all the things I could come across. The same sweater my Snoopy was wearing when he got hit by the snow plow during that freak storm. The white stripes make it identical. It has been a year to the day since Snoopy’s trip to the Rainbow Bridge. It can only be a sign from Snoopy. He is still with me. I had him 20 years. Deep down, I knew he would never leave me. I knew he would always come through for me. Why else in this heat would a little ole lady be knitting a red dog sweater.

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. I can’t believe seeing that little old lady is making Tim cry.  She must remind him of his Nanny who is dead at least 20 years now.  This man cries over everything.  Movies, stubbing his toe, animal cruelty, roadkill, and so on.  You’d think that a man so easily brought to tears would be more sensitive to my feelings. He’s never available when I am angry, or irritable, or agitated.  He’s never there for me when I have my spells either.  Why did we meet? Why am I with him?  Money cannot be the only reason? Can it?

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Oh Lordy, Lord!  I cannot believe it? Not these two again! The woman bickering all the time. The man always with the red, puffy eyes. I so hope these two are not married. and Kids, Oh Lord, please help their kids. I try so hard to avoid these two, yet they are always here. I come in the morning. They are here walking.  I wait until the afternoon. They are here walking. It’s too cool to come here in the evenings. I might be willing to try the evenings if I see them here again. If I didn’t know better I would swear they were stalking me. Sometimes they get here before me though.  Those are the days I see their car and tell the driver not to stop. “Keep on going.” I say. “Bring me to the library instead.”

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