Relationship with Death [a poem]

I’ve been thinking about this subject for a long time now. May develop it into a short story or maybe even longer prose. Not sure.

“What is your relationship with Death?”


 

His body was mangled, on the pavement. The engine running high, and smoke began to rise. The blood, it seeps into cracks and clumps with dirt and debris. The bones scattered yet contained within a body that is composed of torn up flesh, seared and discarded.

And he wondered, Is this it?

Onlookers cry out, a few take action and acknowledge the motionless body. Phones flash, calls go out. Help, help, help.

Wondering, What is your relationship with Death? Does it register or is it just another event? The quickness of it all, just moments ago he was complete and whole, now he’s just meat and bone.

Go on with the day, mutter the events to co-workers and family, maybe even call your closest friend, “You’ll never guess what I saw today!”

How, horrible, how sad. Did he have family? Children? Anybody?

Wondering, What is your relationship with Death? when witnessing an event that reminds you just how temporary life really is.

Are you afraid?

Do you fear the end?

Or ignore it completely?

What is your relationship with Death?


 

I’m open to comments and suggestions. Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope you return in the future!

-Alina

Short Story: A Revision of “The Door Part 2”

Working on ‘The Door’, this is a revision. I want to show my readers my creative process; what I edit, delete, move or expand. I would also love to develop this short story into something a little larger.


ORIGINAL POST

It swings open slowly.The house is empty and the creaks keep her awake at night. It opens and there is only darkness beyond.During the day, the tea kettle screams. She takes it off the burner, pouring the hot water into a cup, tea bag floating to the top. The groan of the floorboards under weight, echoes from down the hall, she is still and waits, will it shut or open? The door lets in or keeps out, the darkness just beyond. 


Revision (Part #2?)

The house is empty, except for she. She lives there with the mold, the warped wood and ruffled roof. At night creaks echo through the house keeping her awake. The sun peaks into the room, a window cracked open, and her eyelids finally close. It swings open slowly. It opens and there is only darkness beyond. The groan of the floorboards under weight, the shadow creeping closer and closer towards She, towards the morning light. Eyelids open. There is nothing but sun.

The tea kettle screams. She takes it off the burner, pouring the hot water into a cup, tea floats to the top. Pull the string, the bag jolts, up-down up-down, the color swirls to life. She is tired. She does not hesitate, she gulps down half the cup. She lets the hot drink sear her mouth.


If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope you return in the future!

-Alina

Short Story: An Encounter (contains profanity and gore)

Here is a short story I wrote for a writer’s club competition that was declined. I’ve been thinking about this story a lot recently and was considering rewriting a few parts and expanding. I decided to post the original here, in case I post ‘An Encounter: Version #2’ when I make edits. This is to show readers the creative process involved in writing and the decisions that I make as a writer.

 


approx. word count: 1,200

 

An Encounter 

by Alina Hansen (original work, all rights reserved)

 

I brought Mark here so I’d get fucked in a haunted house. He was too scared; too freaked to even kiss me. This is why I should’ve brought Josh instead; Josh was down for anything. Doesn’t matter now. I’m screaming, Marks screaming and there is something cold attached to my arm. I look back and there is the woman in the corner holding onto each of us. I feel her nails digging into my skin and with a shudder and snap I hear the bone break in my arm.

Should’ve brought Josh, he carries a gun and I left my pepper spray in my purse in the car. I fall and I’m in something wet; it takes me a moment to realize it’s that girl’s blood. Her body is only a few feet away, her neck is torn out. I think Mark pissed himself, he’s curled up, face down and shaking. I’ve had broken bones before, comes with being an athlete and even though it fucking hurts I scramble to get up. The woman hasn’t moved she is just staring at us. She looks sickly with her face and dress covered in blood. This psycho’s gonna kill us too.

There’s a table leg on the ground a few feet away next to some broken beer bottles. I get on my knees and crawl with one hand, my broken arm useless. I’m waiting for her to come up behind me, to grab me again but I keep moving hoping I have just enough time to get that table leg. I fall forward, my face hitting the floor, my fingers wrap around the wood, and I pull it towards me. I can see a few nails sticking out of the end.  I stumble as I get up. I brace myself against the wall and turn around. The woman’s now crouched over mark and I hear him whimpering. I can’t see her face but her hand is poised in the air, her nails long and sharp. I take a breath and scream, lunging at her. I swing the leg at her head and she looks up just in time for connection. The woman howls and jumps back from Mark. The table leg stuck in her head, the nails digging into her eye and forehead. She grasps the wood and scuttles into the next room.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit I’m going to die! I’m going to die and I had a chance to fuck Jenny! Fuck fuck fuck fuck it hurts! That thing broke my arm! Is that blood? Oh my god it’s blood! I’m lying in blood! Should’ve convinced Jenny to go back to my place, why’d we have to come here?! I can’t look; it’s staring at me, those eyes, those dark eyes like an animal. Like the time we went to the zoo and the new exhibit had a black panther. The panther was just pacing, its eyes on the kids, big black eyes just glued to the little bodies and everyone could feel the hunger just emanating from it and they all laughed nervously pointing at the caged killer.

Jenny grabbed my hand, put it on her tit and told me to kiss her. Then the sound of someone walking up the steps, outside the house, opening the door; sound of girls giggling. Jenny said, ‘Be quiet and we’ll scare them.’ We waited we waited until the kissing stopped then she asked why I was breathing heavily. I wasn’t. There was a muffled cry and a crunch. We saw the woman her face buried in the neck of the girl and then the blood, the blood, all that blood. I looked at Jenny and her eyes were glued on them. I grabbed Jenny’s face and forced her to look at me. I tried to mouth the words, ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ but she tore her face out of my hand and whispered, ‘Where’d she go?’ I looked back and the woman disappeared; the girl’s body motionless on the floor.

I hear a scuffle and scream then a howl right above me. I look up and there’s a club stuck in the things head, I can see nails in its eye. It moves back into a dark room.

“Mark get up! GET UP!” Jenny’s pulling me up and we’re running out of the house.

The car’s about a mile up the road. Jenny’s running ahead of me, she’s in better shape. Jenny’s yelling back at me, “Run! Dammit! RUN MARK!”

That little bitch blinded me! I want her dead! I want her and that little worm of a man! They ruined it! Ruined my night! I don’t want their blood, I want them dead!

I see the car. She’s opening the door and getting in, starting the car. I get in. The car tires squeal and we speed away. There’s a loud crash on top of the car, the car jerks to the left almost veering off the road.  I look up and the hood’s dented inward almost touching our heads. Jenny’s yelling at me to call the cops. She’s speeding up and I’m screaming as I see the long claws of that thing reaching down over the windshield.

Blood pools like sweet honey around the edges of my mouth. It overflows and I feel like the sun is inside me and I’m radiant, glowing with life. Her hair falls softly to the side as her head slumps against my chest. Her hair is so beautiful, looks like gold. I push her aside and she falls to the ground. My dress is stained with blood. How could I resist her? My affections have always been toward fresh young women with a glimmer of innocence, a shine behind the eyes; a heart not yet broken. Oh how sweet! Yes! I can still taste her on my mouth. I can feel the rush of heat spreading from my stomach to my arms and legs.

This house is dilapidated and shudders with every movement I make. A wonderful abandoned home on the edge of town to attract teens for sex, drugs and spiritual encounters. I hear a rustle in the next room, a scuffle of feet and whispers. I slip into a corner. I can hear them now; I think it’s a boy and girl. They’re muttering to themselves, I smell dirt and a hint of sweat. In a rush, there is a crash and a stampede of footsteps running for the doorway beside me. The house trembles in excitement. My instincts take over and I snatch them in the darkness, their screams bellow in pure terror hurting my ears. I tighten my grip, breaking one bone then another. I release them and they fall to the floor.

THE END


 

 

If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my work! I hope you return in the future!

-Alina

Notebook Excerpts #2: March 2017

Here is the second ‘Notebook Excerpts’ post. These bits are from the recently completed notebook from March 2017.

Thank you for reading!


key: + marks breaks in writing

+

The color fades from the sky, and

the hardest part is

letting go. Letting the sun set-completely-

I can’t do this.

+

There is an edge to the blade that makes it all the more appealing.

+

We’re disturbed by the quietness of the blood/the way in which it flows.

All these nights bury themselves against our pain.

+

The bitterness in my heart throbs every once in a while.

+

The sun is coming out-and the

body bathes in the light till

there is no light left.

And what do I do? To survive?

What do I do? For you, how is

that possible?

Am I cold, dislodged and

fallen apart?

I’m not sure.

+

Listening to the Robert Johnson record I got today.

“Best of” record. I am surprised by how much I know

all these songs. And I am again overwhelmed and bathing in his music.

His voice

The emotion behind it.

He doesn’t need a band/never did need one. He’s got it all with his

guitar.

-So Slick

(Delta Blues)

+

And these thoughts bubble in

my head. all that comes around,

you fade and follow me-into

the disillusioned mind.

+

The Knife that CUTS

the words that cling to

my dying body.

Mouth opens completely.

+


If you are reading this Thank YOU for taking time out of your day to read my writing. I hope you return in the future!

Thank you!

-Alina

Freehand Poem #1

Hello readers! As the first post on my blog which is no longer ‘Under Construction’ I have decided to post the first of many ‘Free Hand Writing’ posts which will included poetry and short stories. These posts will contain fresh writing, impromptu and extremely rough. I will attempt to work on and publish these short posts in less than 30 minutes. This is an ice breaker and breather exercise that I do to take my mind off of what I ‘m currently working on.

Here goes!

—————————————

Life of Words


Letting the words just drip,

drip,

drip and

fade and dry. They smell

sweet at first then

begin to ripen till

bittersweet, sting

-ing the back of the throat.

Words that bend, lose their elasticity

lose the ability to return to form

and brittle they break.

Ground up, crumbled into air and dust

Into, inhale,

Exhale, nothing.

Nothing to be devoured, nothing left.

The words rot and dissolve.

They die in their own ways,

they die and fade away.

—————————————

If you’re reading this thank you for taking time out of your day to read my writing! I hope you return in the future!

Thank You!

-Alina