The Stags: A Narrative Fiction

Machale looks around but there was no Chatta to be found. He hurriedly went outside to the hunting ground and looks around to see if Chatta was out there. On Machale’s way to the campsite he falls through the snow that was covering an icy cold stream of water. His body was ice cold to the bone. In fifty­ eight degrees below zero, Machale walked to the cabin to try to dry off and warm up. If he doesn’t get warm fast he could possibly get hypothermia. Hypothermia is the condition of having very low body temperatures. This could be very dangerous. When he gets back to the cabin he saw a pile of snow over the place he had last had his fire built. There is no way to warm

This morning some locals found a person lying in a ravine. From the looks of it he has been there since the first snow fall because he body was frozen. The person known as Mr. George Harvey from Pennsylvania he is suspected to be a part of many murders of young women. Detective Len Fenerman says “ Now that Mr. Harvey is found dead hopefully the sports of the ones he killed can now finally be put to rest because their murderer is finally dead.” Mr. Harvey had fallen of the ravine by getting hit in the head by something, and since it was winter the police thinks it was probably hit in the head by an icicle then lost his balance momentarily which lead him to fall to his death. “A moment later, the icicle fell. The heavy coldness of it threw him

No one was prepared for this: The storms were meant to come next month, and yet it seems that God has played a trick on us, leaving us entirely at his mercy. Everyone here is trying to be as close together as possible to share any ounce of heat that can be sustained. The shelters we built were a feeble attempt at any proper haven that would keep the chill out, yet even the smallest gap in the shelters made the cold barge in, leaving us all as a shivering cluster in the snow. Whilst trying to find more wood to build the shelters, my leg skid across the raw ice that coated some areas of the ground, and left me with a gaping tear in both of my knees, stinging with an insufferable ache when the cool wind whips my bare skin. Yet that seems to be the least of my concerns as I observe William, my little brother. He has grown weary and feeble, his skin looking paler with each passing day. I tried to tell father, but he was so busy trying to plan what to do with the other men that I did not manage to get him away for a quiet moment. I gave William my additional quilt, but he barely clings on to it, as if he has lost all strength in his body. He doesn’t even take any food into his system, even as I try to coerce him into eating, and by the time we are meant to settle in for a dark night of an attempt to sleep, someone has already eaten

She decided to quickly to run in and out of the forest. As she was running she saw a beautiful white stag, and the second she looked at it, she tripped over a root of a large tree. Mila screamed and it could have been heard for miles, then she looked at her broken ankle. She instantly became scared, not able to get back to her town or even know what way to go. She was more terrified that nightfall was coming and all the scary stories of the beasts that came out at night.

Jonas lay on the frigid and cruel ground, which he was destined to be on. He glanced up and gazed at the avalanche of white flacks that scattered all around him. They glistened high up from the moonlight, but then, straight away, they came crashing to the ground. Jonas felt like a death blanket was piling on top of him. He could hear the howling wind roar like a furious lion. The arctic air froze faster every second. His knees were destroyed. His skin was teared into shreds, dangling off a limb. Blood came gushing out of the cut skin as it rapidly ran down the side of his foot and onto the snow. Purple bruises and bumps covered around it. Blisters stung everywhere. He bit his lip in agony, preventing himself from screaming. He didn't want to

I slowly crept around a corner engraved by the trail of smashed snow, getting ready for the huge drop. Of course, I made my uncle go first because like always, I am a scaredy cat. He softly drifted smoothly across the surface, spraying snow all around the backs of the skis. Turning around, asking for an applause, he smiled and chuckled like the hill was a breeze. My huge feet clomped loudly on the surface of the snow. I positioned myself forward and pushed off with my poles. The rushing wind paralyzed my face as I tried to focus on my path. The bushy trees zoomed past me, giving me this rush of adrenaline. I finally came to a halting stop right next to my uncle and waited for the others to join

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.

He knew that it was colder than fifty below zero when he tried to spit the juice from his chewing tobacco and it wasn't unable to clear his chin before it froze. "The result was that a crystal beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing it’s length on his chin." Several times he comments that the cold was making his hands and feet numbed, and frostbite was killing his cheeks. He thinks, "What were frosted cheeks? A bit painful, that was all..." The man also lost circulation in his hands when he took off his gloves. He rubbed his face and beat his hands, but this only temporarily brought back the circulation. His fingers "seemed remote from his body" because he could not move them. Earlier, he ignored an initial sign from nature with a submerged spring because he wanted to get to “the boys” by six. Not long after he stepped through the ice into knee deep freezing water. The most obvious clues that the man took in were internal. "He wondered whether his toes were warm or numb." When he tried to light his last fire, his flesh burned. He knew it was burning because "he could smell it". He didn't even feel his hands burning. The man thought that it was "curious that one should have to use his eyes to find where his hands were." Eventually, no amount of running or thrashing could have awaken feeling in his body.

You let your hair fall loose once your shift was over. It was 4:00pm and dinner was beginning at the restaurant. You pulled your long, fluffed coat on and waved your fellow waitresses off. The coldness outside made your nose turn red almost instantly. There was no snow, just bitter coldness. You shoved your hands in your pockets as you

Merlin snuggled under the blankets that covered his small bed. Autumn had finally arrived and had brought both bitter cold and brutal winds. The temperature had dropped throughout the night and while it wasn't cold enough that he could see his breath, Merlin's nose felt quite chilly. He hiked the blankets higher up over his head and curled into a small ball, preserving the warmth that was captured under his covers.

I walked down the street with my hands down my pockets of my black, ripped jeans. As I exhale, my hot breath formed a faint fog in the cold weather as if I was smoking. My skin was as cold as the winter wind blows that I can feel it to my bones. But I ignore the feeling.

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 chilly evening in Southern Virginia many years ago. There was the old man whose beards were glazed by the winter’s frost, as he hopelessly waited for a ride across the river. Due to the frigid north wind, his body was numb and stiff. Edward, who was passing by saw this desperate old man, who looked so confused and helpless. He asked the old man, “what are you doing here at this late hour?" The freezing man answered, “I am waiting for a ride to take me home.” Edward took some time with the old man, as they waited for a ride to take him to the next side of the river. The wait seemed endless and ineffective. However, they both heard the faint, steady rhythm of approaching hooves dashing along the icy path. Anxiously, the old man and Edwin watched as several riders curved the bend. He let the first one pass without seeking attention from him. Apparently, Edward was very annoyed, asking him the reason for not stopping the passing horseman. The man kept quiet as he checked out on whether there was another one coming. The another one passed by, followed by other two. When Edward saw that the old man was not using any effort to seek help from either of the riders, he was tired and decided to leave the old man alone.

Rising slowly, he unfurled from his cocoon of blankets. The air was icy, and It cut through his clothes. He yanked his floppy beige shoes onto his feet; headed towards another day of hard work. Creeping past his mother, he did his best not to wake her. Glancing down, he grimaced as he saw her, her eyes and lips were puffy and swollen, and