I have been trying to understand split-narrative and nonlinear narrative.
Split-Narrative - A split narrative is when a story is told from different perspectives. Even separate stories that intertwine can be considered split narratives.
Nonlinear Narrative - Disjointed narrative or disrupted narrative is a narrative technique, sometimes used in literature, film, hypertext websites and other narratives, where events are portrayed, for example out of chronological order, or in other ways where the narrative does not follow the direct causality pattern of the events featured, such as parallel distinctive plot lines, dream immersions or narrating another story inside the main plot-line
I am not quite sure if I have actually grasped the concept but we were given a task to identify the seven types of plot and match each one with an example. To apply knowledge of deconstruction to various prompts. Overcoming the monster, Rags to Riches, The Quest, Voyage and Return, Comedy, Tragedy and finally Rebirth.
I am not entirely sure whether this would be considered split-narrative or nonlinear narrative (you decide) but I have attempted to identify the seven types of plot and incorporate them into my story.
ACCIDENT & EMERGENCY
FRANCES
Today was the day Frances was going to die. It had conclusively arrived and she welcomed the finality of death with greedy gaping arms. The past torrent of frustration, outrage and self-pity had dwindled and eventually diminished. Pain had overtaken the disappointment and bitterness that had been all consuming and ate away at her hungrier than the poison swimming through her body.
Squinting at the sun swamping the cloudless sky, she felt at peace. It was a beautiful spring morning and the slight lungs of the starlings outside her bedroom window burst with harmonised joyous melodies that can only be savoured with one willing to appreciate the same.
She wondered where Henry had got to. Probably out for his morning stroll. She would be indebted to him forever and wished with all her heart that they could be together always. In a way they would be eternally entwined through the harsh journey of her death. Together they fought fiercely but now it was time to surrender gracefully. A quest for dignity in death and a decision they made together. Always together.
She could barely move. So heavily sedated by the platoon of pain absorbents administered to her by the various nurses assigned and ultimately dismissed by her darling husband. Henry was a retired Doctor and nobody could take better care of his beloved wife as he could. As hard as she tried to recall, she could not remember the last time she had seen a nurse. Was it yesterday? Was it last week? As well as every other deterioration her mind was failing and her memory fading. The ravenous disease was now ingesting her brain like maggots on meat.
She awoke suddenly aware of the increasing pain and the decreasing medication. Where was Henry? A shadow had fallen over her room and she was unsure how long she had been asleep. The afternoon gloom that encroached her bedroom would suggest a couple of hours or so. Her throat was dry and the pain had become monstrous. As she attempted to call out to Henry only a gasp tarnished her stale lips. She was alone and afraid. Was this the end?
HENRY
After checking on Fran, Henry left home and travelled the three miles on foot. It was a scenic yet surreal journey decorated by the occasional passing tractor and gentle neighs of the horses in the fields. He walked through the village past the clutch of tiny cottages and took the rutted paths through the woods. The woodland seemed ominously quiet, just the intermittent susurration of the fresh spring leaves being lifted by the morning breeze. The majesty of the old growth trees looming above him.
He thought of Fran. He thought of Fran all of the time. She consumed his thoughts, his actions, his life. He loved her unconditionally and the thought of life without her tore at his very core. Life was unfair and callously cruel. As his footfalls reverberated he silently reminisced their life together. Fran was his sweetheart, a delicate butterfly who had captured his heart and held on to it still.
They would often walk this path, hand in hand, back when they were young, adventurous and without a care in the world. They would bring picnics and Henry would be studying reference books whilst Fran would be studying wildlife. This woodland was her life-blood. They built a life, raised their children and created their own perfect little world that nothing or nobody could penetrate. Until now.
Henry reached the outskirts of the wood and increased his pace. The road ahead would lead him into the nearest town and it was still early. The traffic increased and as he reached the bridge he glimpsed the rooftops of the Georgian Mews below.
From nowhere a familiar black BMW hurtled towards Henry, and before he had chance to grasp the severity of the black beast descending upon him, Henry was hit and thrown mercilessly into the fresh spring air and just for a second he was weightless, soaring, before everything went black. The last thing on his mind was Fran.
VICTORIA
Victoria peeled herself off the bathroom floor. Every part of her ached and ugly purple bruises were already blemishing her skin. She clutched her ripped clothing to protect her modesty which had already been horrendously violated and her actions seemed futile. Her life was futile. She grasped the sink and pulled her tortured body into a standing position and painfully contemplated the damage to her face.
There was a cut above her eye and another angry bruise looming over previous semi-healed atrocities. Salty tears stung her wounded skin and with shaking hands she turned on the cold tap and splashed water over her broken soul. The sting made Victoria cry out and suddenly a beautiful blond head appeared as if from nowhere “Mummy what is the matter, what’s happened?” her darling daughter Emily cried, her face filled with confusion and concern. “Oh baby, mummy slipped cleaning the bath, but I am okay, don’t worry” she consoled her. Victoria saw her tiny little face scrutinise her, from top to bottom, taking in every cut and bruise. She hated herself for lying to her. She hated herself full stop.
“Mummy, you keep falling, you need to be careful. Do you need me to hold you hand?” she pleaded. Victoria took her perfect plump hand in her own and said “You know what Emily, that’s a wonderful idea”. She smiled at her mummy contently but Victoria could see in the deep dark lustrous of her eyes that it was Emily humouring her rather than the other way around.
Victoria hated him. He was a monster. If she didn’t leave he would eventually kill her. His attacks were becoming more frenzied and all of his uncontrollable rage was savagely hurled at her. How long would it be before Emily fell victim to his foul fist? She had to leave and she had to leave now. Therapy, anger management were of no use, that is if he attended at all. Victoria had no doubt in her mind that he would return later, devastated, inconsolable with empty promises of change and feigned remorse.
Moving quickly she packed. Gathering armfuls of clothes and toiletries cramming them chaotically in a small hold-all. She kicked away the almost empty whisky bottle, used as weapon only moments ago. Sweeping Emily up into her bruised arms she laughingly sang “who wants to go on a holiday today” swinging her around Emily giggled gleefully “me mummy, me mummy, meeeeee” she serenaded. “Okay darling go and get Jay-Jay Bear, because I think he wants to come with us too” she hinted and off Emily went singing at the top of voice. The shrill ring of the phone punctured Victoria’s swirling mass of exodus and she contemplated ignoring it whilst she was caught up in their frantic escape but it was persistent. Victoria picked up the phone and a polite impersonal voice asked for her by name. “Yes speaking” she responded and as she listened to the muted tones of the stranger on the line, just like that she was back on the floor.
JAMES
James awoke to find Avis wrapped around him. Her bronzed lithe limbs encompassed his own. Velvet blond hair fell like a waterfall over her freckled shoulders and perfect heart-shaped face. He nuzzled her with his dark beard tickling her neck making her purring snores splutter then stop. She blinked her eyes unfocused with sleep. “Mon cheri, watcha doin to me” she teased. James gathered her petite naked body and laid her on top of him, heaping handfuls of her luxurious mane whispering in her ear “let me show you” just as he covered her mouth with his own, the door to the van flew open and Rich bounded in completely nonplussed but obviously appreciative of the spectacle before him.
Avis screeched and pulled the duvet over her finery “Mon dieu Richard, do you knock?” Rich grinned “oh don’t flatter yourself sweetheart, nothing you have, as good as it is, interests me” he teased. “However that fine specimen of a man beneath you is certainly sunshine on a rainy day”. Avis threw back her head with exaggerated indignation, wrapped the duvet around her and flounced out of the van. James was suddenly acutely aware that he was naked and Rich was appreciatively ingesting his exposed anatomy. He threw a pillow at him “give over man” and they both erupted in boyish laughter.
They had been travelling now for two years and it was shortly coming to an end. They were back in the UK. Four of them finished Uni in the spring of 2013 and set off with a pocket lacking cash but a head full of dreams. It had been a voyage of discovery. They had travelled copious miles, digesting the sights and sounds of each new destination. They had grieved for the impoverished children of Kosovo and showered them with food and gifts, their genuine gratitude breaking their hearts. They had revelled in the splendour of the amazing architecture of the Szczecin Philharmonic. Were dazzled by St Basil’s Cathedral and the Winter Palace in Russia and in Italy, well in Italy James fell in love. Whilst basking in the enormity and grandeur of the majestic Colosseum, Avis entered his life.
They fell in love and Avis joined them on their escapade. She was spirited and exhilarating. Intelligent and intriguing. She could be hypnotic one minute and wildish wacky the next, Avis was weirdly wonderful and James loved her with all his heart. Soon he would return home and Avis was going with him. James had proposed to her almost a year ago on a deserted beach in Normandy and Avis had said yes. He was the happiest man in the world.
Rich left and Avis returned, casting Rich what James assumed were innocuous profanities with her lilted french tongue. She giggled and returned to James arms and let the duvet fall into a river beneath their feet. They tumbled together on the bed, indulging, delving and just as James gathered Avis into him, once again, Rich flew through the van door, ashen clutching his phone in his shaking hand.
ALASDAIR
Today was a good day it was Alasdair's day off. Since reducing his hours at work the good days were more frequent and he relished each and every one. Alasdair lazily shuffled around his beautiful townhouse admiring the beautiful acquisitions he had procured over the last two years. Everything was working out just as anticipated and in his opinion was no less than what he deserved. No more anguish and sleepless nights wondering how he was going to pay the mortgage or subsidise his wife’s expensive taste.
Growing up had been tough. His son would not know of such hardship. His son wouldn’t be hidden under his bed awaiting the wrath of his father when he had blown everything they owned at the bookies. Then drinking himself to death leaving his mother to walk the streets to pay off the sharks, always knocking on the door, always circling menacingly. His childhood was littered with dirty memories and depths of unhappiness, the scarcity of the emotional bond of normal family life still gnawed at him today.
When his mother finally gave up on her pathetic life he vowed he was not going to tread the same ruinous route. Alasdair scrimped and saved, he studied hard, sacrificed his youth and genuinely believed he would prosper. How wrong was he? Oh he got the degree, got the great job, but what for? Working ridiculous hours for a half decent wage but nothing substantial, not what he felt he deserved and so he diverged. He did it so well that his home and everything in it was his. Bought and paid for. He didn’t have to battle the demon he became the demon. Morals and integrity would not bring him the comfort to blanket the memories of his rotten upbringing.
Alasdair prepared himself a leisurely brunch and enjoyed the magnificent spring morning through the opened french windows. The carefully cultivated garden was brimming with an abundance of springtime activity. He smiled whilst mentally planning the remainder of his day. Aimee was no doubt beautifying her already impeccable appearance and Harry would have his nose buried in a book in his established, privileged private school classroom.
He glanced at his watch and realised his Client was late, very late. Alisdair checked his messages to see if he had missed a text whilst basking in his brunch time slothfulness, but there was nothing since the message at 7am to confirm he would arrive at 10am. Alisdair needed to ensure that both Aimee and Harry were out of the house. It was now almost midday and just as he was silently cursing the tardiness of his timekeeping there was a brisk knock at the door. Better late than never he thought to himself and chuckled. He opened the door and his world came crashing down.
PIERRE
The dull grinding pulse of the Highways Agency outside Pierre’s window lulled him out of his alcohol induced coma. He groaned in self-inflicted pain and pulled himself into the fetal position and burnished his dry lips with his carpeted tongue. He felt something or somebody stir beside him and stiffened in dreaded forethought as to what or who he would find lead beside him. It wasn’t good.
Pierre silently alighted from his disheveled sheets and covertly slithered as quickly as possible out of his bedroom. With his throbbing head in his hands he moaned manically making his way to the kitchen. “Hey hey hey, how’s lover boy this bright and beautiful morning?” his lodger Mike greeted him as he stumbled into the kitchen. “Dear god mate, whatever is up there is not bright and not beautiful” Pierre returned as he fell into the nearest chair. Mikey laughed out loud whilst shoving burnt toast under Pierre’s sensitive nose, along with a black coffee.
Pierre pushed the toast away and gulped greedily at the hot coffee, relishing the bitter scald on the back of his throat. “Why Mike why? Why do I go out and get myself absolutely shitfaced, lose all sense of moral decency and wake up next to godzilla? Not waiting for his answer he continued “I am a good guy, what’s the matter with me and how on earth are YOU going to get her out of our house?” Pierre looked up at Mike and winked. Mike began to laugh and shook his head “Pierre, Pierre, this is your fire you put it out!” Pierre groaned as Mike leaned in to him continuing “she probably isn’t even that bad, what with a bit of makeup, tad bit more dress sense and some hair-straighteners”.
Pierre shook his head furiously “oh no Mike, no way. Try what you like but you just can’t polish a turd” they both collapsed laughing into a heaped mess on the kitchen table and Pierre started feeling last night's buzz return for the Second Coming. Mike threw the burnt toast at him “get this down your neck Romeo and we will come to some sort of mutually agreeable financial arrangement for me to dispose of your latest mistake”. Pierre grinned at Mike “this is why I have no money and no friends”. Just as they high-fived there was a gentle knock on the kitchen door and godzilla walked in.
“Well hello there beautiful” Mike complemented her as soon as she was through the door. “Would you like some breakfast? Pierre you need to go and pick up my brother, you are already half an hour late, come on get yourself moving.” Pierre glanced at godzilla whose face was hidden by a wiry mass of matted frizz. Looked up appreciatively at his loyal lodger “god yeah I completely forgot about that, well best get my pants on and hit the road, catch you guys later” and with that he sheepishly scurried from the kitchen and took to the stairs two at a time.
Mike had come through. Although Pierre knew it would cost him dearly. He punched the air in triumph and just as he hit the top stair his foot slipped and he came hurtling back down the trodden steps and just before he lost consciousness he remembered thinking Karma is most definitely a bitch!
LUCY
Lucy slipped the resignation letter into the front of her uniform and entered A&E with a heavy heart. She was at a crossroads and was ready to digress. Her heart was broken and the only thing that would get her through today was knowing he would not be here and very soon neither would she. Lucy felt foolish and used. He was married and Lucy became disposable.
The hand-over lasted merely minutes. The strain and frustration showing in her colleagues faces as they finished their 12 hour shifts. Escaping to their loving families too tired to enjoy them before it all started again. Dr Shaw held back to tell Lucy about the fatality he had experienced earlier. As he told her the story of his patient who, despite his best efforts, he had been unable to save, Lucy could hear the anguish in his voice.
Henry Gilmartin was a retired Doctor and was hit full force by a drunk-driver. His injuries were so severe that he died only 30 minutes after arriving at hospital. Upon checking his records it was discovered his wife Frances Gilmartin was terminally ill with cancer. When the paramedics attended their home, they found her dead. “Lucy, her family are still here, they are obviously in shock as it would appear that it was his daughter’s husband who was driving the vehicle that killed her father”. Lucy looked at Dr Shaw, digesting what he had told her “what do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Lucy, you are one of the best nurses we have, go and speak to them, take them their father’s belongings. Your compassion is without doubt a blessing to this department. I know what has happened between you and Dr Reynolds, he is a prick, please don’t let him ruin your career”. Lucy reddened instantly and bowed her head. Dr Shaw patted her shoulder and left omitting to tell Lucy the names of the bereaved.
Lucy took the phone from the box of the late Mr Gilmartin's belongings and checked his contacts. She was shocked to see a familiar name. Dr Alasdair Reynolds. Curiosity got the better of her and as she investigated further Lucy was horrified by what she found. According to what she was reading Dr Alasdair Reynolds had been abusing his position in this hospital for his own voracious need for quite some time. He had used his stance to peculate drugs and medicines from an already overstretched, crumbling NHS to sell to the desperate, to the hopeless. Henry Gilmartin being one of his victims. That’s where he was going, when he was killed.
Lucy looked through the window of the private room and saw Henry’s family. His daughter Victoria, still beautiful despite exhibiting the abuse she had obviously been suffering at the hands of her husband. Well she would no longer flinch at his clenched fist, he would be going away for a long time. Her delightful daughter was tucked possessively into her, exhausted weeping eyes now sleeping in her mother’s bosom. James, Henry’s son, running masculine hands through thick dark hair, his handsome tanned face looking lost and desolate. His stunning girlfriend holding him protectively. All of them engulfed in a black cloud of grief.
“Lucy is that you, is that really you” she heard her name and turned away from the window and saw Pierre McKenna hobbling towards her, his left leg encased in a plaster cast. “Pierre, oh my god. How long has it been? I would ask you how you are but looking at you, not too great” Pierre laughed, Lucy noticed that the cheeky young boy from Kingston Primary had grown into a rather quirky cheeky young man. “Don’t ask, terrible lifestyle, terrible choices. This has been a wake up call I can tell you. Lucy you look great, I can’t believe after all these years I bump into you here.” Lucy didn’t know if it was his charismatic smile, or his cheeky demeanour but she found herself saying “I have just started my shift Pierre, but I get off at 8ish, do you fancy a proper catch up?” Pierre looked like he had won the lottery, which only nurtured her new-found equanimity. “Really? Sure that would be great. It would be better than great” and off he hobbled with the biggest smile she had ever seen.
Lucy turned back towards the door and watched the grieving family for a few moments more and knew what she had to do. Lucy took Henry’s phone from her pocket and telephoned the police, she told them everything and confirmed she would leave the phone with reception for them to collect and would attend the station tomorrow to make a statement. Secondly she took the letter of resignation out of her pocket and tore it into confetti and finally Lucy entered the grief filled sanctum and spent the remainder of her shift cushioning their sorrow, soothing their anguish and striving to succour a heartbroken family.
Hayley Mars
