Tate Story Preview

I have way more, but it's not finished yet and way too long. Let me know what you think of the beginning!

            “But why?” Tate said, exhausted.

            Nicole held her head as if she had a headache.  She sighed. “Tate, we don’t know why or how he found you.”

            “No!” He pounded his fist on the maple-wood table. More dust crowded the air, making Nicole cough. Tate shook his head with frustration. “I don’t get it! Someone must have summoned me here!”

            “Not necessarily, Tate.” Nicole said. “You should go home. Get some rest, the day hasn’t been easy for you…”

            “Where’s home Nicole? Huh? I don’t remember anything before Cole found me!” Tate jumped onto the table that was just about ready to brake from all the furious poundings. His eyes turned a blood-red color again, masking his usually sparkling blue eyes, his fingers fidgeting at his sides.

            All of a sudden he cringed with pain and lost balance, falling off the table. His eyes turned back to blue as he fell.

            Nicole jumped from her seat, gasping, as he fell onto the floor. “Tate! Are you-” She stopped when she saw a tall figure behind where Tate once stood; a metal rod in its hands.

Icy Cycle

                Momentum builds at the peak of the icy summit, as a controlled thrust is forced upon the tube.  An arctic wind slaps against your cheeks, your expression reddening with a rosy flush, determined with narrowed eyes and heavy lungful breaths of fortitude. You notice a lacelike pattern wisped across the snow, as you pummel through it at an uncontrollable speed. Chunks of snow fly into your eyes as you bounce along the curves of the hill. Gripping the handles tighter, you shut your eyes. Flight takes hold of the tube, while you shriek in delight. Butterflies flutter in your stomach and the tickling sensation makes you shiver. You open your eyes again, and see a narrow creek ahead, crusted over with ice and mud. Letting go of the handles, you let the tips of your gloves glide across the top of the snow, gradually digging deeper like anchors. But you’re flying too fast and plan to abandon the tube, embracing yourself in a tight position. The snow pierces your visible skin as you fly face-first into the snow, numbing it with a prickling stir. Wetness seeps into your snow pants, and you notice a newly-ripped hole frayed at the knee. Looking up, you see the unmanned tube, bouncing along the snow. As it reaches the creek, it flips over and lands atop of the thin ice, cracking under the pressure of the inflated rubber. Dusting the dazzling frost off of your snow gear, you lift your sunken boots from the elevated snow and trudge over to the tube, ready to start again.

By Tori Johnson