Winter Sports Fiction Short Stories

A Winnipeg North End night bleeds yellow sodium light onto a scarred outdoor rink. The air is thick with the metallic tang of cold, the hiss of skates on pebbled ice, and the vapor of exhausted breath. Snowbanks, greyed by city grime, serve as silent, unforgiving boards under a starless, ink-black sky.

The outdoor rink is a perfect sheet of ice under a brilliant, cloudless sky. The air is cold and still, carrying the faint scent of pine from the surrounding trees. The only sounds are the scrape of a single pair of skates and the rhythmic breathing of a lone athlete pushing her limits.

The frozen air of the Northwood Municipal Rink is unnaturally warm, thick with the smell of melting ice, old sweat, and a growing, unspoken secret that clings to the cold concrete walls.