Witness Narrator Examples

Witness Narrator

The witness narrator he is the one who narrates from the point of view of a character who did not star in the events but was a witness to them. This character tells the events that he has witnessed from his perspective and uses the third person as he tells the story of another. For example: Esteban arrived at the bar exhausted; It seemed like he hadn't slept in weeks. He ordered a black coffee at the bar and slumped into the chair.

Characteristics of the witness narrator

Types of witness narrator

Examples of witness narrator

IMPERSONAL

The clock radio rings religiously at 4 am. Every day, even on Sundays. With a slap, Raúl turns it off and starts his day. He gets up, and as he starts the coffee pot, he bathes and then shaves carefully so as not to leave any scratches on his thin face. He accompanies the coffee with a couple of toasts, which he never manages not to burn, and leaves for the company, with the newspaper under his arm.

At 6 o'clock, he rests his thumb and the pinwheel lets him pass. His office is located on the top floor of that huge building, that of the "heavy hitters" of that place to which he dedicated the last twenty years of his life.

But this does not mean that Raúl stops greeting each of the employees by name that he crosses in the corridors and elevators that lead him to his elegant office with a view of the river and everything. He continues to ask about the family of each of his companions, his smile is not erased from his face at the time of greet Rosita, who is now his personal secretary, and whom he never allows to dedicate an extra minute to the business. His schedule is until 3, and at 3 he forces her to leave.

PRESENTIAL

The sound of a fork hitting the plate interrupted our conversation. We turned our heads to see what happened to that couple who had been arguing for a long time. After a few seconds, we returned to our business, trying to ignore the fight between those two; although it was almost impossible. The discussion was in crescendo.

Now they were arguing because he had not warned her that in two weeks he had to travel to New York to close a business. But what they were arguing about was something else: it was evident that they no longer tolerated each other. Meanwhile, she was crumpling the napkin and he was trying to finish the plate that had already cooled.

The waiter, uncomfortable, did not dare ask them if they wanted to order anything else. They had both finished their glass of wine before the meal arrived and perhaps they wanted something else to drink, or maybe move on to dessert. Every time he tried to approach the table, her crying or his harsh words made him recoil.

The atmosphere was tense, you could cut yourself with a knife and, from time to time, it was inevitable to turn to look at them.

It was not known who was to blame, or if there was any culprit in that discussion that seemed pointless. But everyone in the place had taken sides for one or the other. She seemed to have more followers. It is that his tears did not stop flowing from his eyes.

Finally, the man made a sign, asked for the bill, and the waiter brought it right away. The man pulled out a bundle of bills, put them on the table, and the couple stood.

As they both advanced to the door, there was silence throughout the room. The whole place wanted to make sure that they had indeed left the place. Finally, the glass door closed and they were both on the side of the street.

Just then, the waiter regained his smile, the place was filled with laughter and murmurs, and we got back to our business.

INFORMANT

This is the story of my grandmother, a story that we find between the pages of her diary a few days after her death. My grandmother was born in Germany and came to our country fleeing, like so many other Jews persecuted by Nazism. As the war progressed, she and her family remained in hiding for months.

In her diary, she tells of the emotion that she produced

see a potato. Yes, a potato. It is that they spent whole days without eating. They were at the mercy of her father's friend who, when he managed to leave the city, would bring them some food, which was barely enough for a couple of days. They never knew when she was going to return, if she was going to.

We don't know how long they were locked up, if it was weeks or if it was months, but I imagine it felt like an eternity. The hours passed in silence, with the lights off, as if no one lived in that little hut in the middle of a farm.

Some nights, when my grandmother and her sister found that her parents had already fallen asleep, they would sneak out the window of the little room where they slept, to go see the stars.

She gives me goosebumps when, in her story, my grandmother mentions the sound of airplanes that they flew low as well as the frequent explosions that they saw from afar as if they were fires of artifice.

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