First Person Exercise

From my previous post, I took the same scene of Theron coming to terms with Wyatt's recent death but I put it in first person and added a bit more to the beginning.  The story has complete potential to become first person.  It could make it a more visceral experience for the reader, but for the time being the story is in third person.

Here is the First Person version:

I tried my best to weave through traffic undetected.   Time was limited and the blood wasn’t going to stop flowing.  The one that was supposed to make it through it all with me was dying and I had a tiny window to fit us both through to make it worth anything.  Wyatt held my wife beater over the hole in his stomach, but his slipping conscious couldn’t keep the pressure.  The right half of my body was soaked in his lifeline. I kept calling him back to reality and reminding Wyatt to try to keep himself alive.  I would push hard on the blood soaked tank until Wyatt remembered the pain.  He would cry out for me to stop, but I’d press harder and remind him that my tough love was keeping him alive.  But I knew deep down it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain the .45 colt locked in Wyatt’s spine along with my body half soaked in blood.  They would blame me without a second thought probably.  That’s how it was back home and I was a stranger to the Midwest.  The map I was using had bloody handprints all over it and I wasn’t even sure where a hospital would be.  Which meant asking for directions.  I wasn’t sure if I could expose us so quickly without Wy getting some actual help.  I needed to think but the staggered pulsations of his stomach followed by streams of blood kept me blindly following the road. 

“Th-The-Theron,” Wyatt called softly.

I quickly turned my head, “You’re gonna make it Wy, don’t give me some last speech shit.  Okay?  Don’t.”

“Theron.  You have to do it.”

“What?  No, no, no.  You’re doing it with me man.  I’m not loosing you, not now.  We’ve made it this far Wy.  I’ll get you help and then we’ll do it.  Together.”

“Ther… I’m not-“

“YES YOU ARE DAMN IT!  You… you are stronger than you think right now.  I get that you don’t feel it.  But.  But you ain’t dyin’ today.”

“Listen.  No… matter what. You… You have to kill him.”

“WE will.”

“I love you brother.”

“Don’t say that shit right now.  You’re going to make it.”

“I love you brother.”

“C’mon Wy-“

“Theron.”  Wyatt stared up at me, his eyes fixed and gentle. 

I sighed, “I love you too, brother.  Now stay with me.”

I pushed harder on the pedal, the dumpy truck that had been in my family for too long  slowly revved up to the highest speed capacity of 85.  I looked back at Wyatt from the seemingly never-ending road, his eyes closed, stomach flat.

“WYATT!” I cried out. 

Wyatt’s eyelids didn’t flutter, his hand limply rested on the balled up shirt.  He was gone.  My stomach twisted maliciously until tears finally released the pressure.  I pulled over; my blurried eyes blinded me from seeing the road.  My breath stuttered before the guttural cries drowned everything out.  My knees dropped to the ground and my head collapsed hard in the dirt. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.