Ricardo: A Narrative Fiction

He stomped his way out of the slushy snow as he headed home for the widow’s house. The temperature had dropped throughout the day, it was reported on the daily newspaper that the bad weather was only just the beginning of the winter yet-to-come. He had just came from school and was drained. He didn’t like being sivilized but, school had grown on him. He rubbed his hands together in an effort to keep warm as he walked the familiar street. When he spotted his gang leader, Tom with the others.

Carlos works with a coyote , but she refuse to help Carlos cross the border. Then Carlos meets with two American siblings who are looking for extra money by crossing infants and children to the United States. The sibling agree to smuggle Carlos into the United States , but Carlos did not realized that it could of have end his life. The siblings way of smuggling individuals was by putting them inside the seats with no hole to breath from and hope for the best. Then issues occur during the process, and Carlos ends up in the hands of "Guerros"yet he is saved by a woman who helps immigrates by giving them a house and foods.

Uncle Cortez was walking up to the door. Catalina saw him and ran over to him. They embraced each other, and Pedro ran over to him waiting to get patted on the head. “Uncle Cortez, what are you doing here?” Catalina asked, surprised.”I’m here to ask your father about something”. Francisco walked out the door and smiled when he saw his brother. ”Hi Francisco, we need to talk” Cortez explained, sounding serious . Francisco’s smiled disappeared from his face.”Come inside then, Catalina stay out here”.

By the time we got there it was already 1:00 a.m., and we left from home a day ago. My Tia Rosa opened the door crying. “I'm so sorry!” She sobbed my my Great Grandma Isabel, my uncle’s mother, in Spanish and hugged her. I rushed to my cousin Eli’s room and leaped on her,

The night of June 14, a son, Oscar tan skin, black hair, 6 ft. tall, had been promised a deer heart for lunch that day by his father, Ricardo. But on that same exact day, no heart, no deer was brought to the table. Oscar looks down on his father, and Ricardo looks up at him, Oscar with his piercing eyes, full of hate, had gone on a rampage, running toward the forest, banging his hand against his head, he was “en candela”. Oscar had been craving deer heart all that week, this was the 5th time Ricardo had promised him. He had just about enough with his lies. Walking in the middle of the forest between Colombia and Venezuela called llanos, in circles, just thinking. Oscar had just rung up an idea. He heads toward town, its pitch black out, walking

We arrived at our destination… so I took my headphones out, and I put my iPhone away. I stepped off of the bus to see a large brick school building with some bricks missing and multiple cracked windows illuminated by light bulbs glowing brightly in classrooms full of innocent children. I began walking to the entrance of the school, trying to avoid the large cracks in the sidewalk that were filled with ice on this bitter December day. Snow was falling and the bitter cold and my new surroundings were shaking me to the core.

The cool winter air stung my face as I exited through the ski lodge door. Board in hand, I stepped onto the powdery snow. After each step I took all I heard was crunches and crackles from the snow compacting underneath my weight. I nervously made my way over to the top of the bunny hill where a tall, beat up looking man named Dave stood. He looked as if the cold weather had made him age quicker than the rest. The earnest look on his face caused me to shudder in fear. His eyes pierced through my soul as if warning me not to go through with this. I took a deep breath as I realized how

The boy was about to retreat to his shoddy nest behind the dumpster, but one of the people making their way down the sidewalk caught his attention. This particular person couldn’t have been any older than he was. Additionally, in stark contrast to those around him, his gaze wandered and the smile on his face had a more trance-like quality, as though he were enamored by the snow whirling around him.

“The choice is not whether or not you want to move but with who you'll be moving with” she replied.

Lauren obeyed, and dug her gloved fingers into his coat, curling her knuckles tight. His arm tightened around her. Uncontrollable shivers raced through her body. Nothing made sense. She wanted her toasty warm apartment. She wanted to forget about

The condensed snow under my feet was crushed with every step. The snow was around four inches deep, my boots made a large enough indent, that I made a noticeable trail of holes with every step. The sun had vanished behind a mountain, the sky’s light had gone from an amiable orange, to a mellow blue. I could see outline of the moon between two clouds, and the air’s bite grew colder by the moment. I had taken a detour, past a thin slice of trees near to my neighborhood. Even for a forest, it was a cold, silent place. I used to come out to places like this as a kid, quiet places where I would sit and be alone for hours. I guess I forgot how often that was, but for the moment, I had something else to worry about.

As the frost crept up my window, each snowflake was perfectly plastered in front of me. They seemed as if they were putting on a show just for me, and I couldn’t help but imagine that there were tiny people living in each one. The soft hum of my mother’s CD’s played in the background as my little brother was fast asleep to my right. I brushed my fingers through my dolls knotted hair, feeling the itchy yarn envelope each finger. Looking out the window again all I saw were cars speeding past us, all rushing to get to their own winter plans.

His claws dug deep into the gelid ground, using them like icepicks to prop himself forward. He dragged himself toward the trees, covered in snow, after which he pulled his face up to get a look at what was in front of him: at least a dozen tree were huddled together, and they Snow blew in his face as he moved forward, the point to where his eyes were too watery to distinguish anything that was in his sight. Because he knew the trees were right there, he mustered enough strength to stand up and lunge himself forward and, to save himself from face planting into the snow, plunged down his hands. His bag slipped forward on the back of his head and held him down. He saw the trees’ trucks, and he crawled his way to them.

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.

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