Tracks: A Short Story

Vehemently, I threw my myself on the bed, covered my head with pillows and screamed in pain and agony.Like a pack of wild, hungry ferocious wolves, the thoughts began to commence and every second they got louder. Like paws,every sentence clawed at my brain,every thought pierced my mind in agony,and my body began to shake. The shivers started from the tip of my fingers and cascaded straight down my gut, my body shook, and I screamed

As Oekeke awoke, he shifted in his bed with a pain coming from his chest. It wasn’t a pain that made you clench up and scream, he knew from that moment something was very wrong. He tried to open his at last, from when he awoke his eyes were still weary but it seemed as though he was stuck in time. His heart pumped faster and his mind was propelling from left to right to across the back and back. All he could think of was his family, but with such confusion he could hardly focus on the realty of his situation. It was a sensation he’d never felt ever before, and as he saw his life flash by him he knew the only thing he could do was to wait it out. The old man finally grasped control of his life covered in sweat and disorientation. He asked

“I don’t feel so well” Jan’s father had suddenly said one morning at breakfast. Her father, a World War II veteran, stood up and went to go lie down. The rest of the family continued with their day. Michael went to see how his father was. When he tried to wake him his father didn’t respond or make a sound. The 11 year old boy was the one who first knew that his father was gone. The memory of her father’s loss is vivid in Jan’s mind. It was a substantial shock after he had survived the horrors of World War II and then just passed away quietly at home one morning. Jan now understands how

We received no food. We lived on snow; it took the place of bread. The days resembled nights, and the nights left in our souls the dregs of their darkness. The train rolled slowly, often halted for a few hours, and continued. It never stopped snowing. We remained lying on the floor for days and nights, one on top of the other, never uttering a word. We were nothing but frozen bodies. Our eyes closed, we merely waited for the next stop, to unload our dead. (100)

So this boy by the age of 14, named Tim, lived in the worst neighborhood. There were murders, kidnappings, and even robberies. Whenever Tim witnessed something so tragic as of these topics I have listed above, he started to bawl. He cried and cried and cried until his mother came in with some cookies and warm milk and fed it to him like he was still her little 1 year old. Tim was never allowed to go outside. For 1, there was this gang called, “Victorians”, and whenever someone tries to cross their path, they would rob them of their money and beat the victim up. Tim had once crossed their path, and they tried to rob Tim, but 1 of the members passed out because Tim had thrown a pipe at the member’s temple, which was located on the sides of his

One night, thoroughly past her bedtime, Georgiana crept stealthily downstairs to sneak a bite of pie, even though her mother would never approve. She immediately realized a heavy drape of desolation. The only noise was her heart beating to the rapid rhythm of the twitching fan. Georgiana thought that no one would be awake at one in the morning. She slipped through the doorway into the kitchen. For an instant, her heart stopped. A dreadful sight stood in her way. An innocent and isolated individual lay with his hand grasping for life, but it was already over. Taking a step back, she

If only I knew how much those words would mean to me now. My eyes shot open in fear, the unknown surroundings swallowing me whole. My throat closed up, the rawness rubbing along with air ways, clawing at my neck. I couldn't breathe, as I rolled over to my chest, coughing up the remains of dryness within my throat.

I slipped beneath the surface of the pool of grain, my hands sticking straight up over my head as I held my breath, preparing for death. I was preparing for the world to go silent. This was the exact situation my father had warned me about, and I had fallen victim to it despite that. Fourteen years old as of two months ago, and death had already come for me. Or so I thought. I felt firm, callused hands grasp my own, plucking me from my grave. The relief was wonderful. I drank the air in, filling my burning lungs with as much as possible. I almost laughed out of sheer happiness – until my eyes met my father’s.

I take a deep breath, as I am waiting on the 4th lane of the track. The marshall yells his command,

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

A couple of years ago, my brothers and me were home alone. See, this story is already off to a bad start. Anyway, things were going excellent. Lane, my little brother, was upstairs watching TV and me and my older brother, Jacob, were down stairs. Then the pizza man showed up and everything came crashing down. By everything, I mean Lane and by down, I mean loud and screaming. The pizza man seemed absent-minded and I don’t think he realized we were home alone. Casually, Jacob paid the guy, took the pizza, and closed the door behind him. We tore that pizza apart like it was wrapping paper on a Christmas present.

It started with a chill, each vertebrae vibrating one by one up my spine. Then the heat, my face flush and palms clammy. I could never keep up with my breathing, for it seemed as though each time I breathed out, I needed more air almost immediately. Soon, my mind was flooded with unsettling images, a new one appearing nearly every second, each worse than the last. Everything that I found comfort in was now an enemy. When will this end? My body could not keep up with the trembles and I could not resist the urge to scream. Was this room always so small? My eyes grew indecisive, darting across the room, until the capillaries within them bulged so greatly that I clenched my eyelids shut. Then, a long, deep breath.

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

A face white as snow, holding a few scratches along his cheeks and the bottom of his chin, his ears red ears warmed by a fair amount of black hair. His red nose stubbornly braced itself against the sharp winds of January. Releasing a handful of fog from his dry lips into his soft hands, his mind drew blank, drifting off. With vacant eyes, the boy released one last puff and readied himself to depart, to drift alongside the endless amount of humans, but a big hand took a tight grasp of his right shoulder, holding him in pace.

I could feel the immense distance between our souls as I watched him leave with smoke blowing out of his mouth. I did not know his name, I realised. I had forgotten his sound. His heart seemed to be bestrewn with vestiges. He looked at me and smiled. I heard them again, those small footsteps.