Narrative Writing 1- ELEMENTS OF A STORY
Narrative is a report of related events presented to the listeners or readers in words arranged
in a logical sequence.
A story is taken as a synonym of narrative.
A narrative or story is told by a narrator who may be a direct part of that experience and he or
she often shares the experience as a first-person narrator.
Sometimes he or she may only observe the events as a third-person narrator and gives his or
her verdict.
Elements of a Story
Plot:
The sequence of events that happen in a story. The plot
usually happens in the order of: Exposition, Rising Action,
Climax, Falling Action, and Denouement.
Setting:
Where and when the story takes place. The setting is the
geographic location of the story. When a character walks
from one part of a neighborhood to the other, the scene
changes, but the setting always stays the same.
Characters:
The people, animals, or creatures in the story.
Protagonist:
One character who is central to the story and all the
major events in the story.
Antagonist:
The character who opposes, or goes against the main
character or protagonist. The antagonist tries to
prevent the main character (protagonist) from
succeeding or being happy.
Conflict:
Conflict is a problem that happens in the story. Usually, the
conflict happens toward the beginning of the story, at the
beginning of the Rising Action. There are different types of
conflicts:
(1) Person versus Person
(2) Person versus Self
(3) Person versus Nature
(4) Person versus Society
(5) Person versus Circumstance
Theme:
The message that is in the story. Common themes are love, friendship, loyalty, faith, hope,
forgiveness, sacrifice, honor, justice, truth, freedom.
From his bedroom window, Harry could easily see anyone who went into the Johnson house.
The Johnson house stood as a lonesome figure in the middle of the Park Way community for
thirty years. Of those thirty years, Harry could remember staring out of his window at what
seemed like every movement in the Johnson’s yard for at least sixteen of those years. He had
seen the house transformed from a place of joy ten years ago to a lifeless shell only seven
years later. The yard was abandoned and unkempt with broken bottles, flat tyres and cracked
windows. When the wind blew, there was a strong stench that consistently assaulted Harry’s
nostrils. It seemed like death emitted out of the Johnson’s house.
However, for the last month Harry saw evidence of life with the exit and entrance of Mary
Beth Johnson from the house. She was a breath of fresh air. If Harry had been honest with
himself, he would have admitted that she was the only reason why he paid close attention to
the Johnson’s house over the years. To Harry, Mary Beth was a princess trapped in a dungeon
(the Johnson’s home). Her jet black hair cascaded down her back in multiple curls and kissed
her chocolate skin. Her eyes appeared to be midnight black; however, the truth was they were
the darkest brown eyes that Harry had ever seen. Harry closed his eyes remembering the
beauty of Mary Beth. He had not seen her in a few days and so once again as it was his
routine he sat at his window waiting to catch a glimpse of Mary Beth on her return home.
Hours passed and Mary Beth was nowhere in sight. Harry was sure he had not missed her
coming home because he had not removed himself from his post all night.
As the clock on the wall struck midnight, Harry heard a deafening scream coming from the
Johnson’s house. Immediately, Harry knew Mary Beth was in danger. Without hesitating,
Harry rushed downstairs and quickly made his way to the Johnson’s house. His heart
pounded against his chest as he rushed to save Mary Beth. He got to the doorway of the
Johnson house only to find it lock.
“I am coming Mary Beth!!!” Harry yelled. He hoped that she could hear the sound of his
voice and knew that help was on its way. Once again, Harry heard another deafening shriek
from the other side of the door. Swiftly, Harry kicked the down in and entered the house. He
had no time to waste. The door flew open and Harry rushed into the house hoping that he was
not too late. In his horror, Harry found a deserted house. There was nothing and no one
inside.
Harry turned when he heard footsteps behind him, hoping that it was Mary Beth.
‘Harry?!’ asked his father, “Are you okay you just rushed out of the house.”
“Didn’t you hear the screams, dad?” Harry asked confused by it all.
“No, son,” his father responded, ‘I just saw you running like a mad man’.
“I thought Mary Beth was in trouble,” Harry answered his father as he continued to search
the house.
“Mary Beth?” his father looked confused, “No one has lived in this house for the last sixteen
years. The previous owners were murdered just before we moved here sixteen years ago.”
The graveyard was cold, dark and dreary. One weary old oak tree leaned over the entrance
gate and broken battered headstones were scattered all around. I could hear the sound of the
howling wind and the creak and groan of branches as they swayed in the storm. The smell of
fear and rotting leaves filled my nostrils and I swallowed deeply afraid I would get sick.
As I walked towards my brother’s grave, I heard another noise. It was slow heavy footsteps. I
turned. A tall muscular man was walking towards me. His face was tough & covered in
stubble to hide the scars which criss-crossed his jaw. “I don’t think this is such a good idea”, I
shouted over the wind. “It’s too late to change your mind”, the man replied in a low
threatening voice. “Either we dig him up now or you spend the rest of your life wondering
how he died”. “Ok, ok”, I mumbled, afraid to say anything more in case the lump in my
throat would cause tears to run down my face. I could still remember the day those two army
officers arrived at my house to tell me my brother was dead. Their cold hard faces gave little
away when I asked how he died. “Killed in the course of duty” was all they would say.
Everything else was “classified”. They handed me a letter from my brother, saluted, then
turned and left, the click-clack of their shoes on the pavement slowly dying away. I stood
frozen to the spot, dazed, confused and devastated. I finally opened the letter with trembling
fingers but only one line stared back at me. “I’ll always be with you brother. Karl”. What did
he mean? How could he be with me ever again? He was dead. Now I leaned heavily on the
rusty shovel in my hands and started to dig, determined to uncover the truth. The scar-faced
man beside me began to dig at the other end and soon my brother’s coffin began to emerge
from beneath the layers of sodden earth. Faced with this moment of truth, I began to panic.
What if I was wrong? I knew Karl hated the army, I knew he wanted out. His girlfriend Sarah
hadn’t turned up at the funeral, hadn’t contacted her family in the two months since his death.
But maybe she just needed some space? I looked down at the coffin as my hired helper
tugged at the lid with a crowbar. With a loud snap the lid flew back revealing the frozen
corpse inside. My whole body filled with relief – there was a dead man in the coffin. But it
wasn’t my brother.
