Here's what I have just written today. Taken from Future Perfect. [Cross-genre dystopian science fiction.]
I almost can’t wait until Mitch gets home. Almost have to lock myself in our apartment to stop myself from running down to his work station and demanding that he listen to me. But there’s a reason I don’t.
In order for him to listen properly to me, for him to agree to what I ask, I will have to sound rational. I can’t afford to look or sound hysterical, to be thought of as irrational, crazy or unreasonable.
Words, thoughts and emotions run unchecked through my brain. I try to sort them into some semblance of order, some logical progression of an idea that I can argue my point with. But they refuse to be sifted and polished, seeming to prefer instead to stay coarse and unrefined, too raw and crude to enable me to sway him by words alone.
Love is my best weapon, I realise. He loves me and it’s for that reason if no other that he will listen.
Will he listen to her? I hope so!