Second Person Narrator Examples

Second Person Narrator

The storyteller It is the character, voice or entity that relates the events that people in a story go through. It is the link between the events that make up the story and its readers.

The narrator is the character, voice or entity that relates the events that the characters of a story go through. He may or may not be a character in the story and it is through his story and the angle from which he looks at the events that the reader interprets and perceives the events that make up the story.

Depending on the voice you use and the degree of involvement with the story, there are three main types of narrators: first person narrator; second person narrator Y third person narrator.

The second person narrator is one of the least used in the literature and it consists of constantly appealing to the reader to make him feel like the protagonist of the story. For this, the present time. For example: You looked at the clock and your face faded, how did time go by so fast, you wondered, as you ran down the avenue, dodging people, and fighting your tie.

Types of second person narrators

There are two types of second person narrators:

Examples of second person narrator

Homodiegetic

1. As soon as you entered the living room, you expressed your contempt for the whole place. As if the rest of us were little, so much so that we didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. Now when the potatoes burn, you come and treat us like we're one of your own. Acting was never your strong suit. And once again, you put it in evidence.
2. I still remember the day I met you. You wore black, as I later learned, you always did. It was difficult for you to hold your gaze, but when you did, it became difficult not to be intimidated. You smoked, non-stop, but with style. That grave voice made even the smallest comment have a touch of solemnity.
3. I don't know why you ask me why I'm here, if you know it better than I do. He has known it since he saw me turn the corner, when his heart surely stopped when he realized that he had discovered it; that I had realized that I was the victim of a scam, his scam, and that now he was coming to collect them from me. His fake smile, which seems more like a badly acted grimace, and his attempts to continue doing what he was doing, having a coffee that must have already cooled down and it will turn your stomach more than it should already have it, they only confirm that you are a scammer and not even a good one, but a lousy one category.

Heterodiegetic

1. It hurts to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, and see how those wrinkles advance and take over your face. You try to put a stop to it, with creams and concoctions that are useless. But what hurts you the most is not that they are there, that they are still there; rather, because of them, your career is fading and the finish line is approaching. Doors are closing on you. And every morning, you come to the studio thinking that that day might be your last day in front of a TV camera. And that tomorrow, perhaps the day after, a face without the marks of the passage of time will take your place. And that no one will remember you anymore.
2. You keep wondering, as you look out the window, what happened. How the ideas stopped flowing. You used to write as if the words were crowding your fingers to put them on the paper almost without thinking. And now, you see nothing but an empty, white sheet in front of you.
3. Once again, the ruling class asks you to show solidarity. As if you weren't already, paying your taxes, in a timely manner; working more than necessary to make ends meet and respecting the law. What law? That, which "is the same for everyone." But it turns out that there are some who are more equal than others, so their actions are measured with another yardstick, different from the one that applies to you and to the rest of those who are like you; mere workers in a factory where you are nothing more than a number, a replaceable part. And that makes you angry, frustrated. But what infuriates you the most is that you know that today, as every day, you will continue to behave like one more sheep in the herd, and that you will never rebel. You grab your keys and coins, and you go to work, like every day, after seeing your listless face in that old mirror with which you shave.

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