C. H. Richard
Bio
My passion is and has always been writing. I am particularly drawn to writing fiction that has relatable storylines which hopefully keep readers engaged
Stories (143)
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Renaissance Man Rides Daily
Sunlight sprung across the window where my head had been leaning which burned my eyelids before I could open them. The hum of the engine had forced me to waken. My hair was matted and sweat poured down the side of my face as I moved my head from the pane that held it. I looked around at the seats which were a print pattern of black and green. The material was worn and ripped. The floor was dark and as I moved my feet, I could tell it was sticky in places. I looked again at the window which also needed a cleaning. I used to ride a train like this every day. I traced my figure in the caked-on dirt and drew the outline of a peace dove. When finished a smile crossed my face as I remembered how I was called somewhat of an artist by friends and coworkers in my younger years. I used to work a 9-5 job and rush home so I could paint or draw. I shook my head as I thought of the dream that I was going to be somebody.
By C. H. Richard3 years ago in Fiction
Quietly Calling Jane
My head bounced back forcing me to open my eyes. I heard the hum of the engine and felt the pain from deep within take hold. I squinted to see bright lights glowing back and forth in the darkness. My hands moved to guide me as I tried to stand and understand my surroundings. A whistle blew and the movement of the car sped up pushing me back into red cushioned seat. At that moment I felt nauseated, and my head hurt which was nothing new in the last few weeks ever since I found out about “my condition.”
By C. H. Richard3 years ago in Fiction
S'mores Memories
The trick was always how to get the marshmallow off the stick and onto the graham cracker minus burning your hands. I’m talking of course about the fine art of making s'mores. Traditionally a great s'more would be concocted while sitting around campfire holding marshmallows over an open flame while chasing off mosquitos and telling horror stories.
By C. H. Richard4 years ago in Feast
Yvonne At The Toll Booth
***Content Warning. This story does contain violence and may not be suitable for all readers.*** An array of lights pierced my vision and paralyzed my movement. I just kept staring into the abyss of blue and white flashes. I heard voices around me, and faces would come into view. I could not move, but I did feel the moisture from the coins still in my hand. Ready as I was to make change for the next customer. Screams penetrated through my ears as someone was yelling, “She opened her eyes, let’s get her out of here.” Loud bangs, faces speaking in front of me as though I could answer. All I could do was see the glare that was blinding my eyes. Then as quickly as chatter and lights came into my view, there was nothing. I could only feel my breath and nothing else. Silence and darkness.
By C. H. Richard4 years ago in Fiction
The Gift Card
January, 2022 The storefront door slammed shut as another customer entered. The howling winds of winter was upon us as we all stood in line waiting to be seated or to pick up takeout. Trying to smile behind face masks chatter was little. The past two years in this time of Covid felt as though the world had frozen, and the weather was just catching up.
By C. H. Richard4 years ago in Families
