Stretcher Narrative

Jim Heynen describes, “How beautiful! People said when things outside started to shine with ice. But the freezing rain kept coming.” The story, “What Happened During the Ice Storm” by Jim Heynen, is about farm boys going to collect pheasants in the middle of a raging ice storm. Every animal was safe except for the pheasants. They were frozen in place along the fence and could not see anything through the ice. After a careful analysis of the story, the reader can understand the theme, how people act in challenging situations, and human nature through imagery, diction, and figurative language.

We were too traumatized to spend time looking for a safe parking spot. Instead, we pulled up right next to where the firetruck and police officers were on the side of the road. I was amazed by all the attention the accident was given. All of the cars that were passing slowed down for a quick peek to see what all of the excitement was about. Jackie swung open her door and ran up to the police officers. The cold,

The soldiers in the field had no mothers or sisters or girlfriends to look after then when in need, they only had the other men in the field who were just as scared. The only place they could look for comfort was in the arms of other soldiers. The support included comfort in the eyes of death, simple conversation and/ or

It was December and the day was cold. The wind blew rapidly and incoherently as the village folk worked on the crops and attend to their many cattle. Then, something started falling from the sky...it was snowing. Normally this isn’t a big deal,

It couldnt have been a worse time, especially for the children. Being sent home by their teachers, school children began walking the routes that they would walk everyday. That day the cold front was rushing through bringing ice and snow along with it. The children, wearing nothing but mere under clothing, had no way to keep warm from the

Suddenly my eyes flew open, the coldness slowly lingered away. My body felt warm. Almost as warm as how my mouth felt the last time I had sipped on my grandmother's tea. My grandmother always told me to have faith and to believe in the end everything would be alright. I felt the frigid saltwater against my skin. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. I couldn’t quite recall what had happened nor where I was. All that I could recall was hearing screams of innocent children and parents trying to comfort

As I heard my alarm clock go off at two in the morning, feeling prepared mentally but not physically. My mind,at that point in time raced with thoughts and expectations, although my body felt like it wanted to die. Finally dragging myself out from under the soft covers, I pulled my gear to the bed of the truck and threw my bag up over the side of the truck's bed,-- hearing a giant thud from the heftiness of my pack. I felt mixed emotions coming from my body, my mind ready and my body said: “go back to bed hate you, I hate you, I hate you”. As soon as I plopped myself into the truck squished with three people in the back seat, after about five minutes of driving all three of us passed out fast asleep. The moment I woke, pulling into the parking lot of Mount Washington, New Hampshire I felt ready. When I stepped out of the car, I threw my hands in the air, the best feeling of stretching after a car ride. I look up to see this mountain completely covered with snow and only one round part completely treeless; that's where we hiked too. Strapping my fifty-pound pack on my back containing ski boots, skis, poles, winter gear, and food felt more tiring than it should have.

the wagons were long gone. Some men went to try to get help but they got

All this freezing cold weather in Latvia has made me remember the year 1963. I was only five years old. Why do I remember this particular snow storm? Well it was because it was the first big snowstorm of my life and there was so much snow and I was so little. My dad worked as an editor for the Latvian newspaper “Laiks” or “Times” in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York. We lived just a couple of blocks away from the newspaper office so dad went to work in that storm. He figured since others couldn’t make it to work he could hold down the fort.

Everything on my body was numb. I could barely see walking as I needed to cover my face from getting hit by the blowing snow. The beautiful glistening snow I had been admiring less than two hours ago now had no beauty to my frozen eyes whatsoever. My toes were starting to actually hurt from the numbness. I remember seeing a sign at a bank that had a temperature reading of thirteen below zero. The only thing I could think about at the time was warmth. At this point my husband and I wanted to celebrate heat and a hot bath. I could now finally see the parking garage upon us. I could feel a stinging sensation in my numb feet every time I took a step. Finally my absolution would come. As I reached for the door handle on the car I now knew I was only minutes from the warm sensation of heat blowing all over my body. The ride home took even longer than the ride there, seeing that the snow had accumulated. I must admit though, I enjoyed every minute of the long car ride as the car was filled with an abundance of

The nerves in my stomach were coming back, the figure in the yellow coat, who by this time was standing beside me with the car door open, told me to get in on the driver’s side. I hesitantly got out of the car, put my jacket over my head to try and keep dry and ran around the front of the car to get in on the other side. In the ten seconds it took me to get from the passenger’s side to the driver’s side of the car, I noticed that the my jeans were drenched with rain from my knees too my ankles. My sneakers were wet and I began to feel to cold water dripping down my socks to my heel. I got into the car and hurriedly slammed the door of the car, not noticing that my jacket was stuck.

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

Going into Christmas break, I was eager to go on a hunting trip that had been planned for almost a year. Being from the deep South, I had never witnessed an area so cold. The temperatures dropped to levels below freezing that week in Northern Mississippi. Going to the deer stand, all I could think about was trying to defrost in hope to regain feeling in my toes that were now completely numb. Hours passed by in the brisk wind with no action; suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the woods. It was surely a gunshot from someone else on the trip.

On a snowy and windy night, I was at Barnes & Noble in Green Bay with my friends, Alan and Karina. Christmas music played overhead, the smell of hot chocolate and freshly brewed coffee wafted over, the customers were kind and cheerful, and snow was beginning to blanket the parking lot outside. We were sitting near the cafe wrapping books to support their mom’s school fundraiser. I stared outside and remembered my mom’s warning of the large snowfall that was almost upon us. Around 7:15, the snowflakes were becoming larger and we could barely see outside the window.

The dry snow piled up onto the bodies; the bitter, biting wind picked away at their bruised and bloodied lifeless forms. The ice was dragging away the last remaining traces of warmth from their livers. More than the blood loss alone could achieve. I can’t help but think of how it is such a classic means of preservation. This gives me time to outlast the storm; after all, I still have plenty of furniture to feed the stove.