A Story by Nostalgicc

Beginning of a story I've been working on. Just the beginning, and a snippet of the third section. Only edited once.



David observes the intricate pattern of snowfall by night through the car’s backseat window. It's the first snow of winter and sifts down gently like the perpetual sprinkling of talcum powder . It started at five, just as the evening light began to fade, and continued at a steady rate. David and his cousin had watched from inside, temporarily leaving their game of chess at a stalemate to run out and catch flakes with their tongues.

“Did you have have fun with your cousin?” His mother asks. She tightens her clasp on the steering wheel and edges the vehicle forward carefully through a white haze. A sign up ahead reads Rossfield Cemetery.

“He beat me in all five games. He said he would let me win one but he didn't.” He tries to see the side of his mother’s face, but from his angle it's concealed by a layer of auburn hair.

His father rustles in the passenger seat, head rested wearily against the window. “All you need is practice, son” He says, “Chess isn’t a game you learn to play in one day. You know your cousin has been practicing for quite some time now.”

David continues his snow watch. His focus shifts from the unfolding sheets of white, which, like his mother’s hair, partially obfuscate everything beyond them, to the veiled street. He remembers the previous year’s snow and how it had been 6 inches deep one day, how there had been three days of school cancelled because of it. And David ponders over whether it will reach to that extent this winter.

The snowfall quickens, frantic and relentless now, being pulled and swirled into flurries by the wind. It piles up in clumps on the outside glass of his window. David feels closed in and short of breath. He inhales and wheezes hoarsely, chest rising and tightening against the restraint of the seat belt. His mother looks back worriedly and tells him to use his inhaler.

He clicks off his seatbelt and seizes the blue canister from his jacket pocket. It feels cold as he depresses the top. He takes two puffs of vaporized medication and allows his eyes to close. He tries to assuage his tightened chest muscles by remaining inert, relaxed.

Eyes shut, he hears his mother whisper ‘everything’s fine’ and then her hand ruffling his head.

He thinks about how much he hates being afflicted with ‘asthma’, as his doctor and his parents call it, and how much of a hindrance it is to his notion of being ‘cool’, of being like the rest of his third grade school mates. Why does he have to live day to day with the uncertainty of a capricious disease?

His mother shrieks, wheels screech, and a large object collides with the car. There's a crumpling of metal as he's thrown against the glass of the window. Her shriek reverberates in his head and all thoughts of asthma and snow dissipate. Something sharp and abrasive grazes his forehead.

Then, a resonant ringing in his ears and utter darkness. His mind gives way to oblivion  


The beeping of a machine. Adjacent.

“David, David, please.” Someone cries out. 

He feels cramped and strange, engulfed by black senselessness. 

Someone weeps next to him. He wishes he could respond, but his mouth is numb and cold. 

“David, please don’t do this to me. David!” A shrill panting, riddled with tears. 

He questions if he even has a mouth to respond, or eyes, or a body. 

How can he hear the person? Or feel the cold?

Frigid fingers tighten around his conscious.

He grows colder and his mind grows darker.

David opens his eyes to find himself supine on a snow-covered street. It's still night, the dark skies shrouded by descending snow. His face is icy under a light covering of frost. He expects a pang of pain but is surprised by the relative ease at which he moves his arm. He brushes flakes off his face and sits up. Again, the young boy braces himself for a sharp ache, the agony of broken bones, shattered knees or crippled legs, but is met only with the nip of frigid night.

© 2013 Nostalgicc

Author's Note

New story.
After first edit.
Only first part, with third section cut off.
Critiques are welcome.

My Review

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Good story and PSA with a happy ending I think. I see what you mean by fleshing out now.

Posted 6 Years Ago


6 Years Ago

This has no ending. Above is just an excerpt from the first chapter.
Engleski ti je jako dobar, i sviđa mi se struktura priće kao što je i ona mala napomenula, jako se rijetko to vidi i često se gleda kroz prste ali ne i kod mene. Nisam bas sad toliko lud kao ove dolje za pričom, jer nije bas nesto po mom ukusu, jer sam poseban hehe, ali svida mi se sve u svemu struktura price i vidim da si iz hrvatske pa rekoh da vidim... pozdrav :D

Posted 6 Years Ago

Whoa, that took my breath away! I loved it!

Posted 7 Years Ago


Posted 7 Years Ago

You have very nice sentence structure (something that is often overlooked). Your word choices were all very fitting. Great characterization with David.

I can't wait to see how it turns out. I can say much about the actual storyline yet because it's not complete, but you do have great writing skills.

Posted 7 Years Ago

You did a very good job with this. :) Only in the very beginning you went from present to past tense for the first paragraph after the first sentence. It was a little confusing, and felt a little out of place. I'd just suggest re-reading and editing a bit, but other then that, it was good. :)

Posted 7 Years Ago


7 Years Ago

Thanks for the review. I do agree that the change in tense in the first paragraph is somewhat confus.. read more
hmmm let me see, you did a nice job with suspense although you lost me for a minute but then i found the way back XD, i can't wait to know what will happen to this poor little boy! why did they leave him!!!! even if they thought he was dead, where are they!!! oh suspense i like this :)

Posted 7 Years Ago

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7 Reviews
Added on January 13, 2013
Last Updated on January 13, 2013
Tags: short story, story, snow, survival horror, fiction



East coast

Been here since 2007. 20. East Coast. I dig ambient soundscape music and often write while listening to Boards of Canada or Aphex Twin. Don't be afraid to offer serious constructive criticism, .. more..

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