Narrative writing Examples | English Language for Grade 10 PDF Download

Everything would be different 

"Be ready! We'll be going out for lunch today, I'll be back in half an hour." my Dad shouted as he shut the door on his egress. A quiver of excitement mixed with anxiety stopped me in my tracks as I headed towards the kitchen. "That's surprising," I whispered to myself. It had been over a year since my Mom passed away and my Dad had been struggling to meet deadlines for payments whilst constantly being fired from his jobs due to lack of concentration. My Mom's death took a heavy toll on him, it was as though her death sucked the life out of him. Now he was only living for me, cramped up in a small house with a single room, kitchen and bathroom, yet he battled the officials that came once or twice a month to propose a better home for me. He was my hero and I only needed him in my life!

I frantically pulled on a sweatshirt and primped my hair as the minuted ticked by. Honk! I heard a car honk outside my house. I ran towards the hazy windows, pulling the fraying curtain across and my Dad sat in a taxi signaling me to lock the door and come out. I pulled the door shut and deftly locked it but on my way towards the car I was constantly thinking about how long it had been since I sat in a car. What could be the occasion? It definitely wasn't my birthday. My Dad shoved to the side and I squeezed in, excitedly asking, "Dad, what's the good news? Have u gotten a new job?" My eyes glistened with joy and my lips turned to a wide grin. My Dad's eyes looked happy sad, with a flimsy layer of tears but lit with fake joy. "No, son, I just wanted to spend some time with you," he calmly said.

We pulled over by the ice cream truck and my Dad, without questioning, bought the best flavor he offered, which was also my favorite. He didn't seem a bit concerned as he pulled out dollars from the little that remained in his tattered wallet. He got back in the car and handed me the ice cream, not saying much. On the way back home, he tightly held my hand and reminded me off all the beautiful memories we had after my Mom passed away. His eyes becoming even more rheumy. I was now savoring the ice cream with a dry throat as the emotions overwhelmed me. I wondered why he was talking about all this now, it was almost as if he was going to leave me forever but I shook that thought of my head.

I was so lost in thoughts that I didn't realize we had passed our home. The taxi was moving on but my Dad said nothing as I screamed, and pointed repeatedly at our humble abode. He wouldn't even look at me. A couple of minutes passed and we pulled over by a house, much bigger than ours and far more opulent. A couple stood smiling at the door way, neatly clad in pristine white clothes and smiling excitedly, especially the woman. My Dad opened the door and pulled me along, speeding up his pace as he approached the entrance. A formal greeting was shared and the woman bend down, her gentle palms stroking my tired face, "What a lovely child," she exclaimed, "even better than how he looked in the picture." With those words, my heart clenched and I darted a glance at my Dad who's eyes welled with tears. Through his cracked voice I was able to decipher a few words,"This is ... your new home." He let go of my hand and it dropped lifelessly by my side. I couldn't say a word as the tears in my eyes blurred my vision — my throat dry like the cemented walkway we had trotted past. My Dad gave me a final look, placed his hand on my head, rubbed it and briskly walked to the taxi. He shut the door and in a second he was gone. I was frozen as the emotions chained me down and I knew things would be different from now on.

Busted 

The officers removed their pristine handkerchiefs and held it tightly against their noses, just leaving enough gap for a whiff as the cylindrical sewer lid was pried open. They stood in the gloomy alley which was incongruous with the bright, noisy street just a few feet away. They prepped their guns and secured their batons on their belts as they descended the sewer.

Earlier this morning officer John had received word of the whereabouts of the drug trafficking gang leader. Nobody believed that they would be carrying out their dirty activities in a slump underground, but what more could be expected. These criminals had been very elusive, leaving behind very insignificant clues they could trace back. However, the forensic department worked assiduously to track one member of the gang. A notorious criminal previously imprisoned for selling drugs in high school. Four officers — two seniors and two juniors — were selected to investigate his recent activities and after days of enquiry, John reported seeing the man slip away into an alley this morning.

"His days of glory are over," John whispered as we quietly strode the damp and reeking floor of the underground sewers. All of them were at the peaks of their tolerance but they still fought hard against the suffocating stench for the success of their pursuit. The accomplishment of this mission would raise the ranks of the junior officers as well as increase the salaries of the senior officers significantly, especially John's. An excitement was budding in their hearts as they reached closer to the ends of the path, a curve at the edge hid the impending encounter from their eager eyes. A silent murmur could be heard from behind the corner and a flickering light made the fetid water shine intermittently. The anticipation was building up. "Our biggest catch yet," John's thoughts resonated with these words. A smile was tugging at his lips as he signaled the others to move quickly behind him.

He moved swiftly and intercepted the corner, "Freeze! Hands on your head!" he screamed as lifted the gun up and pointed straight ahead... Straight ahead into nothing. Nothing but an old, battered recording tape still playing a dialogue and a burning cigar from which wisps of smoke escaped. John's momentary euphoria was overcome with profound humiliation and he couldn't bear to turn his head and face the other officers.

He Left So I Could Learn

In this first essay example, we explore a lesson on dying:

It was my second day on the job. I was sitting in my seemingly gilded cubicle, overlooking Manhattan, and pinching my right arm to make sure it was real. I landed an internship at Condé Nast Traveler. Every aspiring writer I’ve ever known secretly dreamt of an Anthony Bourdain lifestyle. Travel the world and write about its most colorful pockets.

When my phone rang, and it was Mom telling me Dad had a heart attack. He didn’t make it. I felt as though the perfectly carpeted floors had dropped out from under me. Now that I’ve come out the other side, I realize Dad left me with a hefty stack of teachings. Here are three ideals I know he would’ve liked for me to embrace.

First, you have to stand on your own two feet. As much as our parents love and support us, they can’t go to our school and confess to the principal that we stole a candy bar from Sara. We have to do that. Neither can they walk into the Condé Nast office and nail a job interview for us. At some point, we have to put on our “big girl pants” and be brave, even if we’re not.

Also, there’s a difference between love and co-dependence. Being grateful to have someone to turn to for love and support is not the same as needing someone to turn to for love and support. With the loss of my father, I’ve also lost my sounding board. All I can glean from that is it’s time to look within myself and make proper assessments. If I can’t make sound decisions with the tools already in my kit, then I risk falling for anything.

Finally, memories are, perhaps, the only item that cannot be taken away from us. Will I miss my father? Every single day. What can I do in those times? I can open up our suitcase of memories, pick out my favorite one, and dream about it, talk about it, or write about it. Maybe I can’t pick up the phone and call him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone.

Next week, I’m off to Istanbul to explore their art scene. As soon as I read the email from my editor, I picked up my phone to call Dad. Then, I realized he’ll never answer my calls again. I fought back the tears, got up to make a cup of peppermint tea, and added a new note to my iPhone titled, “Istanbul Packing List.”

In the end, life goes on. I’m not sure why he had to leave during the single most poignant chapter in my life. So, I won’t dwell on that. Instead, I’ll hold tightly to these three ideals and write about Karaköy in Istanbul’s Beyoğlu district. Dad will be with me every step of the way.

A Teeny, Tiny Treasure Box

The next short narrative essay takes a different approach. Instead of living in a comfortably loving home, the writer had to deal with the uncertainty of the foster system. Here’s a short lesson on hope:

She took me by the hand and walked me into the lobby like a five-year old child. Didn’t she know I was pushing 15? This was the third home Nancy was placing me in - in a span of eight months. I guess she felt a little sorry for me. The bright fluorescent lights threatened to burn my skin as I walked towards a bouncy-looking lady with curly hair and a sweetly-smiling man. They called themselves Allie and Alex. Cute, I thought.

After they exchanged the usual reams of paperwork, it was off in their Chevy Suburban to get situated into another new home. This time, there were no other foster children and no other biological children. Anything could happen.

Over the next few weeks, Allie, Alex, and I fell into quite a nice routine. She’d make pancakes for breakfast, or he’d fry up some sausage and eggs. They sang a lot, even danced as they cooked. They must have just bought the house because, most weekends, we were painting a living room butter yellow or staining a coffee table mocha brown.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. When would they start threatening a loss of pancakes if I didn’t mow the lawn? When would the sausage and eggs be replaced with unidentifiable slosh because he didn’t feel like cooking in the morning? But, it never happened. They kept cooking, singing, and dancing like a couple of happy fools.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Allie decided it was time to paint the brick fireplace white. As we crawled closer to the dirty old firepit, we pulled out the petrified wood and noticed a teeny, tiny treasure box. We looked at each other in wonder and excitement. She actually said, “I wonder if the leprechauns left it!” While judging her for being such a silly woman, I couldn’t help but laugh and lean into her a little.

Together, we reached for the box and pulled it out. Inside was a shimmering solitaire ring. Folded underneath was a short piece of paper that read:

“My darling, my heart. Only 80 days have passed since I first held your hand. I simply cannot imagine my next 80 years without you in them. Will you take this ring, take my heart, and build a life with me? This tiny little solitaire is my offering to you. Will you be my bride?”

As I stared up at Allie, she asked me a question. “Do you know what today is?” I shook my head. “It’s May 20th. That’s 80 days since Nancy passed your hand into mine and we took you home.”

It turns out, love comes in all shapes and sizes, even a teeny, tiny treasure box from a wonderfully silly lady who believes in leprechauns.

Essential Elements of Narrative Essays

Let’s go back to basics first. Generally speaking, there are four types of essays: argumentative essays, descriptive essays, expository essays, and narrative essays.
Narrative essays tell a vivid story, usually from one person's viewpoint. A narrative essay uses all the story elements — a beginning, middle and ending, as well as plot, characters, setting and climax — bringing them together to complete the story. The focus of a narrative essay is the plot, which is told with enough detail to build to a climax. Here's how:

• It’s usually told chronologically.
• It always has a purpose. Often, this is stated in your thesis statement in the introductory paragraph.
• It may use dialogue. For more on that, here are the ins and outs on how to punctuate dialogue correcctly.
• It’s written with sensory details and bright descriptions that involve the reader. All these details relate in some way to the main point the writer is making.

Quick Tips on Writing a Narrative Essay

When writing a narrative essay, remember that you are sharing sensory and emotional details with the reader.

• Your words need to be vivid and colorful to help the reader feel the same feelings that you felt.
• Elements of the story need to support the point you are making. And, you need to remember to make reference to that point in the first sentence.
• You should make use of conflict and sequence like in any story.
• You may use flashbacks and flash forwards to help the story build toward a climax.
• It is usually written in the first person, but the third-person perspective may also be used.

Tell Your Story

Use your next narrative essay to tell your story. It’s possible to focus on yourself, while offering the reader some sort of lesson or truth. Encourage them to move past terrible loss or maintain hope in a seemingly bleak foster system.
Narrative essays are close cousins to short stories. If you feel compelled to share another story, fiction or nonfiction, with the world, check out Get Creative: How to Write a Short Story. Who knows how many lives you’ll brighten and shape with your words. Remember, there’s great power in them.