Point Of View Study

As much as I'd prefer to be Vincent Price, my name is Vincent Malloy. I have been alive for seven years and people consider me as "polite" and someone who does what he is told to. They also say that I'm pale, as if I had seen a ghost or something and that I look older, probably because of my messy hair and eye bags. I live with my sister, cats, and dogs. I wished I lived in a house with spider and bats though. My hobbies include making horror inventions, I feel that they reflect on the person that I am. Since I am always alone, I wander through the dark hallways. However my oblivious aunt doesn't see me as this type of person. If you requested, she'd describe me as "nice". Probably because I'm always nice to her, what she doesn't know is that I imagine drenching her in wax to put her into my wax museum. Other than that, another thing I enjoy doing is experimenting on my dog. His suffering doesn't come to mind as I am only concerned with trying to make him a zombie. I know what you're thinking of me now, but no; I don't only think about "cruel" things. I actually like to paint and read. But the things I read aren't childish like "Go Jane, Go", I'd rather read stories and poems written by Edgar Allen Poe. One day I was reading, I felt sick to my stomach and my face turned pale; SOMEONE BURRIED MY WIFE ALIVE! I ran to her grave and tried to dig her out, only to realizing no one was there. I was just digging up my mother's flower bed. She ran outside and dragged me into my room, continuously yelling at me. She left me in there, I thought I would be spending the rest of my life in there with the portrait I drew of my "wife". She came back a few moments later telling me I could go outside and play with my friends if I wanted too. I tried to talk to her but I couldn't speak, I felt too weak. I then took out a piece of paper and wrote how this house has possessed me and I wouldn't be able to leave it again. She said I wasn't possessed and that these things were all in my head, and that I wasn't Vincent Price. I disagreed. I backed slowly against the wall. I felt insane, all these people were calling my name; Edgar, my dead wife, Vincent.  The scratchy hands grew from the wall, grabbing at me. I tried to escaped, reaching for the door. But I fell down slowly my heart beating slower and slower. I quoted one of Edgar's Poems. Everything was blank.