Exercise 3: Unreliable Third

They've been friends for forever. Everyone knows that.

Not just in the little ways, like... always pairing up for partnered projects. They weren't that kind of friendship. Those two were the kind of friends who were virtually never seen, at least by Ambrose, outside of each other's company. Maybe they were seen apart in separately-gendered locker rooms, or the time when she bled through her pad in ninth grade--no, not even then. Because it was he who handed over the clean clothes he'd brought for Mock Trial later in the day so she wouldn't have to go through the day in a pair of pants that were much too large for her. Ambrose noticed because he recognized the boy's cuff links on the jacket, and later, got the story out of a friend of his.

Part of the weird thing was that they were around the same size. The boy grew a little faster, but she caught up fast enough. By the end of eleventh grade their names were pretty much vestigial; they were called the Twins, mostly, except by his brother, who always seemed angry for some reason none of them could ever discern.

It was in college, though, that this got remarkable. Everyone thought they'd get married. Even Ambrose, who could be called crazy in love with the girl, whose name was Sibyl, could tell they were the real deal. It was in the way he looked at her, in the spark in her dark eyes. She was happiest around Luke. Luc? Luke. Whatever. And Ambrose, he never got a second look. Ambrose was just the kid sitting a row behind her where if he leaned forward enough, he could read her papers. She didn't seem to mind. Every so often she looked back at him, and the little smile around her lips and the quirked brow seemed to suggest that she thought he was being rather clever. Well, he was--too clever, in his mind, because she wasn't realizing that he was interested in her, not her damn paper. Ambrose was smart enough to take his own notes. And if he had had the good fortune to be born as Luke or whoever, then she'd know that. She'd want to love him.

Time passed. The seasons changed. And over time, there were more clues. She was looking away from Luke, her dark eyes seeking out... dare he hope? Was it him? Ambrose began dressing nicer--not quite like her stupid little middle-school boytoy, somewhere in between. Classier. A nicer haircut, too. And if his new contacts--he didn't strictly need them but he wanted them, why shouldn't he have things he wanted--made his eyes look a little more green, well. Who cared? Who would even notice? Sibyl--he heard Luke calling her Sibby, picked it up himself--looked at him more and more often. One day, he followed her home after she split off from her friend--around campus, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He followed her up to her apartment.

Then he watched as Luke killed her.


Challenge: Write a fragment of a story from the point of view of an unreliable narrator--third person limited narration only. 500 words


It's hard to write something deliberately deceiving... How'd I do? Let me know in the comments. <o/**