Flash Fiction #6 (Isolation)

Isolation

by

Alina Happy Hansen

 

Alone and unloved, she sits in a room that is pale and plain just like her. The window lets the sun in, trickling across the floor, across the wall until it vanishes each night from sight. There are movements and sounds coming from the rest of the house, voices seep through the walls. The other women’s howls slice through the silence. Rooms become cages to keep in the hysteria and pain. The room is her tomb where she waits for her family, sitting there in a chair, staring out the window into the sun.


 

Inspired by The Yellow Wallpaper , horrible stories of Asylums and women being treated for ‘Hysteria‘. 

 

 

If you are reading this thank you for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope that you will return in the future!

-Alina

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Flash Fiction #5 (Dinner)

Dinner

by

Alina Happy Hansen

 

He hums to himself sharpening his knives. Her voice echoes down the hall.

He positions himself, ready to slice. Her voice grows louder from down the hall.

He looks at the meat, the red, bloody slab and begins to cut, cut it all up, into

tiny bitty pieces until there is nothing left to cut up any more. Her voice echoes,

a scream, from down the hall. The sizzle of the meat in a hot pan. She calls out,

“WHERE’S MY DINNER?!” at the top of her lungs.

 


 

If you are reading this Thank you for taking time out of my day to read my writing!

I hope that you will return in the future!

-Alina

Free Hand #29

So slick, the body pulls back from the ocean tide. The waves collapse

against the shore. Where did you find me? Among the rubble and washed up

bleached out, salted wood? I am waiting silently under the millions of stones

that litter this beach. I am waiting to be revived, returned to the land of the

living.


 

If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope you will return in the future!

-Alina

Flash Fiction #4 (The Lighthouse)

The Lighthouse

by

Alina Happy Hansen

 

There she stood. Her figure silhouetted against the moon, distant and lonesome,  looking out towards the sea. The spinning light reached out across the void, touching waves, touching clouds until disappearing back behind the trees. Lighthouse, candle, and a memory of a death. He calls out to her from the door, hoping she’ll come back inside, inside his arms, inside the house, and forget it all. Forget the blood, the pain and the small grave.

 


If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope you will return in the future!

-Alina