Sun and Moon

Prose or Poetry or both? I am playing around with this short fiction piece that discusses celestial bodies which are ultimately consumed by darkness and timelessness: possibly the destiny for all of us. 


Sun and Moon

by

Alina Happy Hansen

The Sun battered down on the city below. The inhabitants wake and roll over, groaning or jumping up to live another day. Looking down below, the heart of the moon, forever lost to his lover runs across the sky. Each day as it progresses, the season’s changes, the year’s pass, the inhabitants are born, live, die, born, live die; generation after generation. The Sun does not care about the inhabitants of that blue little world that is quickly turning grey and sickly, quickly looking more and more like it did when it was born. The sun looks on trying to catch the moon who is left spinning around the little black globe, dead and dried up. Spinning away into a void, an abyss until the sun begins to dim and invert itself becoming a black hole finally sucking the sun into its darkness.


 

Thank you for reading my work! I hope you will return in the future! 

-Alina

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Waiting by Alina Happy Hansen

Here is a short story I am currently working on. Consider this a somewhat polished rough draft. The story revolves around Marc, a man that has an outburst in a hospital waiting room.

Thank you for reading my work!

 


Waiting by Alina Happy Hansen

 

Marc looked solemn as he flicked through the magazines in the parlor. The nurse at the reception desk glanced over in his direction every once in awhile, her hand inches away from the phone just in case. The chairs had been put back where they belonged, papers and garbage thrown away and the entire room was now restored to its previous neatness before Marc’s outburst. A vein on his forehead was still prominently pulsing but his face was no longer flushed. He appeared to be completely calm now.

A few people trickled into the office and in a matter of minutes there was a break in the tension felt in the room between the nurse receptionist and Marc. But even as the minutes sped by he continued to revisit and shuffle through the same five magazines within his reach. The pictures meant nothing, the words a blur, Marc only went through the motions to divert attention from himself and his own irritation.

His wife was somewhere in the labyrinth of halls, somewhere far away and possibly in pain. They had grown worried about their unborn child a few days before and finally scheduled an appointment to see their doctor. But it had now been over two and half hours since they first arrived and his wife had disappeared behind a shut door. She wanted to be alone, wanted to talk the doctor privately, not in front of Marc.

Marc tried thinking about work, about the home, about all the errands he had to do this weekend as he was grinding his teeth and trying to keep his eyes away from the reception desk. His outbursts were embarrassing and rarely occurred but the mounting worry that he had felt during the first hour finally exploded when the nurse had told him that the doctor was not done evaluating his wife. His temper, his frustration, and feeling of lack of control is what drove him to throw a few things around and yell like an overgrown child.

Did she tell them? Did his wife tell the doctor about the incident that happened two weeks ago? Did she tell her parents? Her friends? The housemaid? Marc’s frustration was mounting yet again and he felt like he was going to burst. The image of his wife slipping in the bathroom, the sound of thud her body made on the tiled floor. His constant worry about his wife and child had led him to the point where he could barely sleep or eat because the loss and pain that had plagued him and his wife for the last five years was overwhelming and never-ending.

This was not the first time they had had to come to the doctor, this was not the first pregnancy but again it was possibly their first child. Marc had found himself stressed between his work and his wife where his constant worry had pushed him over the edge. Too many times had his heart suffered, to be overjoyed and elated with a pregnancy then torn up with his wife’s heartbreaking sobs and another loss. It was too much for Marc to be in that office again waiting for the news he was going to receive.

A quiet voice called to him, he looked up, the nurse was approaching him her hand now on his shoulder. They were finally done with the evaluation, the doctor was ready to talk to him, his wife was just fine. Marc’s heart jumped into his chest and he quickly followed the nurse to one of the rooms down the maze-like hallways. In one of the abrasively white and fluorescently lit rooms, his wife sat there in a chair her face no longer pale or stained with tears. It was beaming and warm. Marc felt instant relief and wrapped his arms around her. The doctor rummaging through paperwork looked up and smiled. Everything was going to be ok this time.


 

Thank you for reading my work! I hope you will return in the future! 

-Alina 

Thoughts on the Action of Claiming One’s Own Identity

I belong nowhere in this world because of who I am, what I am, and what I identify as. I am ‘unremarkable’ and a ‘problem’ to society. I am not my sex and I am not my gender, I am I, without and with influence from the world. I have taken what was forced on me and I reject it. I make my own identity. It is not for anyone to decide if I am a Woman, a Female, or if I am feminine enough to qualify. I will not bend my head into submission and will not ‘sit down and be quiet’. I am not sorry. I will not ask for forgiveness for anything I have done or said because my actions are ‘unjust’. My actions are moral, my actions are right and fair because they do for me what no one else can which claims my identity as my own, as I define it.

It is with these actions of mine, my marked ‘defiance’ against everything forced on me, that I hope to make a small step towards the liberation of all that are constantly pressured to fit into a certain form and definition that includes duties and expected behaviors relating to sex and gender. And It will not stop at sex and gender, it will go beyond to Race, a predominate identifier that requires liberation from presuppositions within society that again try to define who or what a person is and more importantly their worth. We must start at the core of sex and gender which are interwoven with identity and race and redefine their meaning, their functions, and their ‘place’ within society in order to gain freedom.

I want to act and inspire others to act and gain their own deliverance in hopes that one day there will be no definitive function, structure, formula, or operation for what is a ‘Man’ or a ‘Woman’ or more simply who is a ‘Person’. I want freedom for all from the pressures of ‘masculinity’ and ‘feminity’, from ‘Man’ and ‘Woman’, from ‘Worth’ and ‘Race’. I want freedom for the self because every being should have the right to their own freedom and definition of worth within a society.

There are walls to be torn down, barriers to be broken, and voices to be heard. The generations after should be free and undefinable by anyone except themselves. To be treasured and valued by others for who you are as you know yourself to be, as a multifaceted being that cannot be easily simplified or categorized or identified within a society, is a dream worth acting on. Our dreams today will be realities for generations of the future.

So I will not ‘shut up’, I will not ‘sit down’. I will look you in the eye and tell you who I am because I am not afraid to be honest, or real, or true to myself and others like me. I will use these words as actions and I will not be ‘quiet’.

Sincerely and Justly,

Alina Happy Hansen

 

The Note

Folded up and placed away. The note began to fade as the years went by. Moving from book to book, placed higher and higher on the shelf until it made it’s way to the attic. Now dead and gone, relatives search for valuables and vital documents. Rustling in the dark, the note waits to be picked up, to be read once again. Finally little hands grasp it, crunchy and smashing. Till the words begin to tear. “What is that in your hands? Throw that away! It’s garbage!” The note is tossed in a garbage bin full of moldy doilies and romance paper backs.


 

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope you will return in the future!

-Alina

The Roommate

The Roommate

by

Alina Happy Hansen

 

The snake slithers across the floor, touching no one. Hidden under the floorboards, it is a silent occupant in this house. I have only seen it a couple times but each time was a vivid and odd experience. The first time, I was in the kitchen sipping my morning coffee and he slithered in from the living room glanced at me with disdain and slithered out. The second time, I was sitting on the toilet, part of my morning routine before leaving for work, I heard him before I saw him, hissing and sliding across the floor. The door was open a crack and I saw as it was gently pushed open, his small face poked in to look at me in disgust then disappeared. I don’t mind this guy, we don’t have mice anymore but I’m starting to wonder how a snake got in the house in the first place.


 

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 #8 (Cowboy in the Desert)

Cowboy in the Desert

by

Alina Happy Hansen

 

He looks to the sky, the sun burns. The blue lake glitters in the distance. The sound of coyotes somewhere nearby. The gun is heavy on his hip, and his boots are full of sand. He takes a step then another. His chapped lips, cracked and bleeding. Hands limp and lifeless hanging in defeat. His horse dead, miles back, its black eyes shine in his mind as he shot it lying on its side dying of thirst. If he could just make it to the blue lake glittering in the distance.


 

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 #7 (Hospital Stay)

Hospital Stay

by

Alina Happy Hansen

He sits propped up on some pillows. The sick smell of bleach and antiseptic is inescapable. His neighbor groans in pain behind the curtain partition. The TV flickers every other minute, the signal weak. A voice calls to him from outside the opened window. His heart beats furiously. The voice of his dead mother reaches him, getting louder as he reaches for the call button. “Why did you say you wanted me to burn in hell?”


 

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