Ricardo: A Narrative Fiction

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

Rodney was too quiet to fit in with the kids at school, but not manly enough to get along with his strict father at home. Rodney

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

After a moment of gawking he shifted his eyes back to the sky. He was lying on the ground with his hand behind his head, almost content with the world, he couldn’t be sure, but this had to be the closes he would ever felt to really happiness, sure he was pleased and proud when he or asserted his power, but more over he was angry, not at anything in particular, just angry, Feli was laying the opposite way, his head right next to Luciano’s talking a mile a minute and giggling often, Luciano didn’t have to say much to get the other laughing. What surprised him the most were the small smiles of his own that would tug at his lips at Feliciano’s actions. These dream visits, the both concluded they were, had been happening for several months almost a year. Rolling over onto his stomach Feliciano looked down into the beautiful magenta

He had been walking somewhere on a road, in between buildings, he doesn’t know how long it’s been how long he has been walking. Night hauntingly shrouds his surroundings with darkness; the artificial lights seem so damn weak. They seem to only produce enough light to brighten a large moving box. The darkness stares him down, the cold presses against the bare skin of his arms. A hand squeezes his right shoulder he can feel the warmth through his shirt.

He wanted so bad to feel how soft her plump lips were, but he refrained himself from doing so. Aidan realized that he had been staring at her for a good minute and quickly looked away. Nadia noticed too and slightly touched her face when he looked away. There must have been something on her face for him to stare at her like that. "Do you want me to change the movie?" He asked her. She looked at him out the corner of her eye, "yes, please." Her voice little to the point that if he wasn't so close he probably wouldn't have heard

Jonas clutched Gabriel closer to his chest as they rode the sled down the snow covered hill. Snow and rain pounded Jonas' back, while the winds around them threatened to throw them off. The hill seemed to become steeper and the sled picked up speed. As Jonas dared to open his eyes he could see that the lights were becoming brighter, and heard the soft sounds of singing becoming louder. But as the sled got closer, the wind became stronger, and the snow and rain came down harder. Jonas had to use all of his strength to keep the two of them on the sled. He was so close, he could feel the Elsewhere. Jonas' arms ached, but he could not give up now, he had come so far and is he was so close to reaching Elsewhere. But when one incredibly strong gust

The rink was cold as expected. Not only was it winter in Maine, but they were in a building with a huge ice rink in the center. John and Rosemary were right up next to the glass watching the game with Beau right behind them. A short while into the game, the puck was slapped and came ricocheting across the glass right in front of Rosemary and John. John didn’t move an inch being used to watching his brother play where as Rosemary screamed and flinched away. Beau put his hands on her quivering shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re alright.” Something was telling him to just wrap his arms around her and squeeze her tight. Rosemary looked up and saw Beau staring back at

A row of evenly spaced street lights cast a yellow glow over the cracked sidewalk, the soft radiance illuminating a path to Tom’s apartment. In the distance, the rumble of traffic echoed through the still night air, the low resonance drowning out the sound of the young officer’s footsteps. But the city’s urban song didn’t stop Tom’s mind from reciting a silent mantra with each footfall. Dennis... Jorge... Dennis... Jorge... Dennis... Jorge… the names jarred painfully inside his head until they became a cohesive whole, dennisjorgedennisjorgedennisjorge, giving validation to the two men’s coupling. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and no matter how much Hanson wanted to pretend it had never happened, he could not change reality. Dennis and Jorge

“Lovino-my friend, the more you stare at them won’t make you feel any better, trust me I know that all too well” the green eyed, tan man, Antonio said as he lightly put his hand on Lovino's shoulder. The dark brown haired boy was fuming, he was literally snorting like a bull, that is how angry he was.

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.

As muscles tightened and head throbbed, all that was on my mind was the fear I would never be able to get up again. Very thankful for the time with friends, it never crossed my mind something like this could happen. My heart was racing like it wasn’t going to stop, and then it hit me like a brick wall. There I was lying on the hard earth staring at the blurred trees stuttering around me like a slow motion video. Driving up to trollhaugen on this frostbitten arctic February day felt like a century as all the kids had been looking forward to this day forever. Laughing and playing games was our way to pass time as well as occasionally glancing out into the bleak fields of grass. Pulling into Trollhaugen’s parking lot lit up our faces like children

The sled reached the bottom of the hill and slowly slid to a stop. Light snowflakes fell in dizzying patterns around Jonas, blurring his already troubled vision. The ground seemed to sway, to turn, to move. His head felt light, his limbs numb, and his body cold. He tried to stand, to get off of the sled, but his body refused to listen.

It was an icy winter this year in the Bronx, and we all knew the weather wouldn’t let up for at least another few months. My hands and nose were already red, bitter from the cold as I wandered through the frosty morning air. White snow had fallen that previous night and was now turning to thick ice making it quite a struggle for me to maneuver my way through the loopy unheated streets and sidewalk of the dirty town without falling. My copper face was freezing but I barely noticed, my mind was busy bustling about. It bounced thoughts around each revolving around the same thing, Saki. A young eccentric girl, who I had encountered at a fest, held on Governors Island. As I trampled in the snow, through quiet icy towns, I couldn’t help myself from

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