Realm: A Fictional Narrative

A lone candle burns into the senseless night. Its wax trickling down its side. I stare at the clock and it is barely half past nine, yet time seems to stand still. I stare at the window and investigate the nasty mesmerizing blizzard falling outside my window. I could not grasp anything other than the snow. All I can do is moan as each passing second this bloody snow lingers and destroys my vision of a perfect Christmas, in which Santa would come and visit me in my sleep. At the time I was only four but I treasured Christmas and the snow surrounding it. Little did I know the damage that it would entail into my life.

I had just gotten out of the shower and felt as fresh as an ice cube, then later realized it was the beginning of October with cold weather. I changed into my light gray pajamas and walked to the kitchen to get a snack. Before reaching for the delicious strawberry poptarts that had just came out of the toaster, the house phone rang. I ran to i fast because I didn’t want my poptarts to get cold.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of my father’s ’95 Chevy Silverado, the same way it had every time we drove up the steep, tortuous path to my grandmother’s home on Christmas Eve. There she was waving excitedly, dressed in her floral nightgown and fuzzy slippers as the snow floated downward around her. She corralled us inside away from the cold. Like I was as light as the snowflakes just beyond the door, she lifted me up into her arms. I laid my head against her chest as she guided my father and me into the living room adorned with wreaths and candles. I closed my eyes and inhaled the aroma of peppermint and freshly baked cookies as my grandmother held me tight. Lights from the glistening tree illuminated the room in red and green.

Madison Knight read the dismal bank balance before placing the laptop on the coffee table. Pity tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them back and held tight to the blanket draped over her shoulders. Sinking to the couch, she dreaded the Oregon winter, the challenging snowstorms, and now the holidays.

She was eight years old, and it barely began getting crispy outside. Winter was right around the corner. She loved winter, the cold weather always made her all lubricous. Her favorite part of winter was eating cold food and wrapping herself around him while he was cold. She always thought cold items and food were the best in cold weather and having the air in front of her while it was cold just made it so fun. Unfortunately she wasn’t enjoying this upcoming winter without him.

We could see Pilate watching us from the palace windows; no doubt he had hoped that

The cup in my hand steamed, fiery heat against the embracing cold. My younger cousin laughed, his exhalation visible as the snow came down. The cold always seemed to seep in, no matter how you tried to keep it out. Pink fingers and rosy cheeks; speckles of snow across my face and in my hair. Sitting on the cold red bench as the snow leisurely came down, I watched my cousins joyful face and realized that these were the moments adults wanted you to hold onto.

The frozen silence of a winter’s dawn, dishevel brown pine needles peaking out of a powdery white carpet frosted trees sagging under the weight of last night’s snowfall. Large flakes fell from heaven as if the angels were having pillow fight and the goose down fell to our humble homes. Through beautiful the snow cold and sharp as it built at our fingers like a wolf bit at our fingers with its sharp teeth, as the wind blew through the quiet forest. On the ice, the whip slap the huskies, pulling the sleds into motion. They stopped in the forest to rest by a homeless cabin. Inside the cabin was a miracle! A great feast on the table (still fresh and sweet), a fireplace, a comfortable bunk bed, and six stalls for six huskies. All in simple perfection. They wanted to stay longer, but when the daughter of the family peeked outside at the window, the snow thicken.

I pull myself up from the frozen ground and wrap my tattered, yellow shawl closer to my frigid body. I sigh as I examine the frayed ends and the disgusting mustard color the fabric has assumed. I ought to get a new one, but I barely have enough money for food, much less a nice shawl. This winter has been a particularly bad one. I am always hungry, always searching for something more satisfying. The city has been cold

I could have done it father, I could have done it. For you, for all of us!

The challenges to match sockets to fully light the tree, searching through numerous tubs to find the decoration needed for the dinner table, debating on where to place the ancient Twas the Night Before Christmas novel, but nothing beats the satisfying feeling when seeing the house dressed in its holiday best. A mixture of spices, pine, and sweets devour the air along with the spirit of St. Nicolas. With trees in place waiting for Santa to stuff them, with Jingle the Elf watching over the little ones, with the house creating a captivating aroma, it is time to begin holiday season.

I can feel the Fire Monster spread his flames engulfing the whole house. The flames dance dangerously close, and just before they reach me arms wrap around me and pull me away. All I think to do is scream, I scream to be let go and I scream for help.

The second winter came and snow flasks shimmered like teardrops splitting out my eyes when I first came to this high school, attacked by loneliness and nostalgia. I was with my friends, headed for the food court. I did not go to the Chinese couple’s store but somewhere else, where I preferred more. I did not want to patronize them. They were living and instating on their own. I ordered a cup of hot chocolate, held them in my hands and looked through the window. What I saw was exactly the same as last winter. However, something was different – my thoughts.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.