Daniel Hansen's Blog

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page or read the first story in the series The Hunt.

593 Words

Do you ever just need to scream? Not like a rebel yell or even a hearty whoop, but a full-throated screech that reverberates down your body to tickle your toes and back up out your throat. A forever release of all that nothing pent up within you. A scream that embraces all the broken pieces and scatters them across the wind.

There is this need within me at times to crack open what is closed and hold it up to the world and let the wind catch pieces and carry them away. To let the pieces normally held together by will alone simply crash to the ground and be free for one shining moment.

That is what I felt there upon the ground, the cold mud clinging to my face and soaking through my clothes. I knew if I gave in I would never get up, I would have those moments and nothing more. I knew the screams would draw them, the watchers, the hunters, the world.

I could hear them in the woods around me. Their whispers clung to the air and danced over my prone body. I tensed in anticipation of the yell that would draw them all to me. Would it come from them in discovery or me giving in? Part of me welcomed it, the final judgment, the last reveal, finally the freedom of an end, but there was fear there, fear of what the end would begin.

I breathed shallowly and held my body still. The world clicked and clacked and breathed around me, but the dangerous whispers grew quiet and finally silent. I strained to hear them, feeling the tension in my body tighten and crack further as I held in every shiver, every shake, I held on with the last of my strength. I held until I could hold no more and my entire body shook into the earth.

 I crumbled a bit inside as I pushed myself out of the mud and leaves. The world was thick around me, and I coughed as I came to a kneeling position. The urge to scream only grew stronger, and I had to still myself and breathe. The world was no friendlier now that I knelt, it made no more sense, and the only relief was that I had accepted a bit more of the reality and so I was able to begin processing the last few days.

I paused and struggled to search back to when it had all begun. How long had I been here? How long had this been my normal? I couldn’t recall, I had not had the luxury to count the days, and if I had, it would have been unhelpful at this point. The world was not the world I imagined, wanted, lived. It was not my world, it was some new world, some new reality, and the transition from what was to what is was such a sharp immediate cut that I still had no understanding of how to live in this new normal, only that I had to if I was to survive.

The earth was soft in my fingers as I pressed against it and pushed myself to a standing position. The wind blew softly through the trees and I breathed deep as my feet rooted to the ground. I closed my eyes and just breathed, breathed, and felt my world settle, stabilize.

I would survive another day, another week, another month, another year. I would survive this. There was no other choice. I swallowed my scream and breathed.

End

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on Amazon and Smashwords.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

1. Me, it’s just me

By the way buy my damn books and read my short stories

And then review them

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page to find more interactions with Qaltnat.

 402 words 

“Oh, no trust me I have died many times, getting back up is just another choice, if you stay dead it’s because you want to.” Qaltnat twisted gently in that questioning way they had before flipping their attention directly upon me, “Is that what you want, it is obviously what she wanted?”

I stuttered back and wiped the tears out of my eyes shaking my head, “you never understand.”

There was a gentle huff-huff of air as Qaltnat grew frustrated with my obstinance, but once they spoke the words danced in a calm quiet whisper of sorrow.

“Have you ever fallen out of the sky? Like truly tumbled from flight? To be up with the wind on your face and the stars in your eyes and the sun on your skin. To taste the clouds upon your lips even as the wind dries your face. To one minute hang right there in perfect stillness, before the wind begins to whistle, and your stomach begins to rise as the force of gravity that wants to rule your life takes hold. And then you fall, the world rushing towards you, and you know it’s coming, that moment, that ground, that if you can’t stop falling before you hit it you’ll never get up again. And you have to decide, do I just let myself hit the ground this time; do I just stop trying and let gravity do what it wants to do, have its way, let it all be over, or do I rise.”

I stared silently at Qaltnat, knowing my lack of an answer was an answer, and the silence did not stretch, it was a blip, a moment, a chance given for me to respond, when I did not they laughed and I could feel the wind of them as they circled around my head before focusing in on my eyes.

“This is how I feel all the time, to know the fall is coming again and again, and not sure what I’ll decide next time.”

I shook my head and turned away from those wind burned eyes, my silence its own rebuff to Qaltnat’s nonsense at a time of such serious sorrow. This once their silence was louder than mine, and so I spoke, “you just do not understand.”

I barely heard the wind whisper its response.

“Here we are my anchor, going all the way to the ground then.”

End

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on amazon.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

Let Your Choices Become Your Strengths

Here We Are

Play an Ancestor entwined in the life of your descendant. A Spirit bound to an heirloom from your past. Will you become a vengeful Poltergeist needing to wreak havoc on those that have disturbed you, a helpful Specter finding a medium to help share your prophecies, or a dramatic Wraith sewing chaos and confusion to garner the attention you seek.

“Here We Are” is a Tabletop Role-Playing Game of Spirits. Born at the start with no memories, just a True Name, a Feeling, and a few ways to interact with the world. Characters will learn to strengthen the abilities they have as they grow in power through action. Unlike other TTRPGs the Players have no need to choose Classes, Genders, Ages, Races, or anything else that would make little to no sense to a memory-less Spirit.

Created as a method to play test Rez Life’s unique roll mechanics and levelling style, Here We Are took on a life of its own, becoming a quick easy to start TTRPG in its own right.

Sound like something that might be fun to try?

Feel Free to Play Test the Beta found in PDF

Let your players download and use this Nifty Spirit Sheet to track their progress.

Let us know what you think of the game in the Comments and remember to Tip Your Bartender

Pay what you want, you already downloaded the PDF

We just want to give the world games and stories, but it is always nice to be able to eat.

5.00 $

Click here to purchase.

Been thinking about my Trickester’s War novels and the next book. Like the Monster’s Offer that started Raven’s Spear, I am playing with the 3rd book having a similar historical opening story to get things going. Only instead of Hempel I would explore Alex, cause like Alex forever.




The Monster Answers

The room shook with anger as Kaline clutched her brother close. Hardened wood dug into her feet. The handle of the knife she held in her little hand wavered as the room shook again and her hand steadied.

The world was at war and Kaline could feel it in the air. The taste of magic was acidic in her mouth, as she huddled against the world.

Smoke rolled up through the rail at the edge of the loft and Kaline could hear the crash of bodies entering. The war had reached their village and the orphanage would not be spared. She and her brother would go from slaving for one side to starving for the other.

Footsteps sounded along the stairs.

Kaline could feel Cowel’s teeth as her fingers dug into her brother’s mouth. Her breath caught as the stairs creaked. Kaline wanted to whimper but the sound would bring the hunter and they were not known for mercy.

The knife scratched against the wooden floor as Kaline began to trace. First, a sharp V surrounded by the eight twisting twirling lines spreading out from the maw-like-mouth of the broken triangle. The sounds of feet and bated breath clambered up along the walls and into the loft.

“The Monster will come.” Cowel cried and Kaline hissed at him for silence, finishing the scratched symbol in the floor. Her brother gave her a look of fear and whispered, “it’ll eat us.”

The world shook with magic and the feet on the steps halted as if in fear. The world held it’s breath. Kaline sucked on her lips and wept. The symbol on the floor wavered as her tears dripped down upon it, filling it with her fear.

She hesitated, weeping, unsure, afraid, before slicing the knife across her palm with a hiss. Blood and tears poured from her onto the floor, and she prayed, prayed to the one god that cared about orphans if the myths were true. The god of lost children, the Monster, the one all feared and none worshiped and yet if the risk could be stomached, orphans may beg its pity and accept its price.

But even with the blood nothing happened, Kaline sniffed and leaned back against the wall clutching Cowel closer. The world did not change, the crashing sounds of warriors below them did not stop, and the feet upon the stairs still slowly creaked their way closer.

The Monster was a myth, a legend, a story whispered in cold winter nights to call upon the innate fear everyone held in their hearts. The Monster was a legend, but one all knew was true, one that all shivered and hid from, but also one that could be called, and Kaline had just scrapped his symbol upon the floor and wept the tears and blood he loved.

Yet he had not come, he had not answered, the scratch in the floor was merely sharp scratches. Kaline crouched against the wall as the world began to shake again with magic. The world held its breath as a soft breeze began to blow through the air. The warrior upon the stairs was coming, and there was nothing the children could do to stop them once they came.

As the world shook dust filled the air. Something must have shaken loose because a blanket floated from the darkness of the rafters. Green wool streaked through with gold and red threads slipped to the floor before the children. A rumbled map of lines and twisting curves, it lay unmoving.

Kaline reached out with her small fingers and brushed the rough itchy fabric, wondering why it had been in the rafters. Cowel whimpered and she hushed him without looking back. The feet on the stairs took a tentative step as Kaline looked down at the blanket. From the stairs, wavy hair poked above the floor followed by a tanned head and muscled arms. Black cloth-wrapped tightly around the warrior that moved smoothly into the room.

Fingers dug into Kaline’s arm as Cowel stiffened. The warrior stalked along the loft’s edge and the world shivered. The blanket shifted as a wrinkle near the center moved with a slight bump.

The bump slipped and climbed, rising slowly up forming around the barest outline of a body as it unfolded from the floor and stood. Kaline was breathless as the blanketed figure swept towards the warrior standing looking down from the loft’s ledge. The figure was silent and breathless as the blanket dragged along the ground.

“Monster,” Cowel whispered and the warrior turned at the sound. The warrior jerked back as it took in the slow-moving figure. Hands grasped for weapons tucked into a belt but merely fumbled unsuccessfully. A body shook in fear and for once it was not Cowel or Kaline’s. The world stilled to a single solitary moment and Kaline for the first time in her life was able to breathe. A hand snapped out from under the blanket. Pale fingers wrapped around the warrior’s neck, with a crack, the body fell to the floor like a limp rag.

The blanketed figure turned and the wool swayed around the Monster. From the front, the blanket opened as it hung revealing a man’s shadowed face underneath. Long hair spilled out from around the blanket as the creature stalked toward the children. Kaline’s body froze in fear as a shadow rolled over her. The shadow nipped at her and she squeaked.

The blanket fell in a pile and the man who stepped out seemed to shimmer and shiver in the light, dressed only in bright ribbons crisscrossed and wrapped around and around until near no skin shown except the face. And just as Kaline’s sight began to adjust and take him in her eyes jerked to the bundle he handed down to her.

The voice that filled the loft was musical as it tinkled across the wood and danced around and around and around until it settled into Kaline’s ears, “can you hold her please, there is music downstairs.”

And with that, the bundle cooed and Kaline stared into the bright eyes and smiling face of an infant. She clutched the child to her small breast as she starred back up to the ribboned man, she had once called Monster.

He smiled as he stepped back and kicked the blanket over to her and danced along the wooden floor to the edge of the loft and leaped into the air landing smoothly on the railing with a pirouette and a bow. The ribbons that wrapped him wiggled and waved along the roaring gale of his laughter.

He balanced there smiling down at Kaline and the bundle in her arms, “Stay warm under the blanket little K, daddy has to dance.”

And with a laugh, he threw his arms down and out his fingers grasping at air. Greenlight poured down his arms and around his fingers sharping into broken lines of jade gloves ending in long sharp claws. The Monster reached out as his body tilted back from the rail and he began to fall, his arms thrown out and his hands splayed wide.

And as he slipped from view the screaming below began.

 

End

If you want to know more read The Trickster’s War Series or my other short stories.

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page to find more.

531 words

Today you do not know me, there is no need to, no desire, but I watch, I watch as they come. And they do come streaming across my screen in bright lights of banded little circles, they hoover around us digging at the flesh waiting for their broken teeth to crack the shell. You feel it, the crack crack crack of those yellowed chips digging in their need to devour me. And I just watch, as the teeth dig, for here I am, here I am watching, sitting, unable to dream my dreams until I finish theirs as they stream across my eyes.

Here I am, just here, just sitting, just staring at the screen, the world streams by, the world supplied, the world online, the world of tv shows pouring through my eyes. I drink them in, show after show, story after story, life afterlife, the unoriginality of it is so bland I barely remember as it passes through me. Should I watch it again? Should I sit through it all and see what I missed? But you know I did not miss a thing, I just did not keep it, because it was not worth keeping, even as it sucked away my life drop by drop, episode by episode.

This is an addiction, a drug, a thing I cannot stop even as I tell myself it is all a waste, I sit here, letting it roll through me like broken glass strewn across the street. My wheels are busted and yet I keep driving. Why do I keep driving? I cannot even answer, I just sit here and drown in the images of the least interesting ideas made, acted out by the blandest actors leached of color.

What is there for me to say? To do? To think? To dream? Will the house under the lake ever be built? WIll it take shape with the water falling through the river I have redirected? Or will it be a dream, forever seed, and never fruit? What shall I do? Why do I sit here and watch the uninspired dreams of others? I do not know, but here I sit.

I want to watch my own dreams, to lay back let them flow through me to natural endings until I can frame them into reality, but instead, I sit shackled by images across my screen that slurp away my will to act. I can act once the episode is done, I will act once I finish this season, I will set aside their fantasies once I have completed them.

The world burns, I will put it out when this is over. I would say again that I am chewed up, but I have become too bland to be swallowed as if I was the spice but these teeth have rendered me unseasoned, and unpleasantly I sit while the world rends around me. I will take care of it when this episode is over.

I don’t like any of this, and yet here I am, trapped watching it waiting to fix the world until I am done with now. I will find reality once the black mercy becomes untethered from my mind.

End

 

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on amazon.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page to find more.

596 words

 

“You don’t understand, something is really wrong.” The hippie whined and I sighed sitting down my ‘eagle father’ pulled from a turkey and dyed. I never used this real thing with clients, not these kinds of clients anyway.

 

I brushed my hand over the silken scarf I folded over my feathers and took a deep breath. I could feel the power of Kawkaw’s feathers within and wondered how the General would feel if I used one of hers instead of the turkey’s.

 

Qaltnat was uncommonly quiet which was nice because they could often be a distraction, and I needed this check to get us through the next month. I smiled my most serene smile at the old hippie and waved some burning pine smoke towards them.

 

Qlatnat slipped though the smoke as gracefully as a dancer. Moving with the curling spiraling swirls that filled the air. I was transfixed and wondered what the hippie thought of it all.

 

I charged for cedar and sage, but to actually use either for this would dirty the air of my business. Nobody should burn either unless trained, and obviously not for something as simple as all of this.

 

It is the highest of taboos to buy somethings and so the bundle I set on the table was also pine with a few wraps of dried flower petals I had pulled from a street garden for color. I know the hippie would claim to be ‘part Native’ as if that did not make violations worse instead of better. The hippie couldn’t tell the difference anyway, so here we were.

I put on my most deep ‘Indian’ prayer voice and said as stoically as possible, “the smoke will cleanse the pains within you. Light it within your home and breath deeply, you will feel your spirit cleansed and protected from all that you suffer.”

 

“Are you sure, it feels really bad this time,” the hippie coughed and I frowned waving at them with my feather. They did look uncomfortable, scared even, but then these kinds of people always saw things they wanted instead of reality.

 

“I am sure, a good ‘smudge’ with this and all your ills will be cleansed away,” I patted a bony shoulder, “have I ever steered you wrong?”

 

“No no, I am sure it will work, it always works.”

 

“You told me that your ancestors gave you permission to use sage and cedar?”

 

“Oh yes in a dream, the dream, remember I told you.”

 

I smiled, “Then you have nothing to be worried about do you.”

 

I smiled and leaned forward towards the door. I did not point out the credit card machine, nor mention it, we were not so crass, but they knew they needed to stop, and I knew there would be five grand in my bank account before they left. Solving problems was not cheap, and not easy.

 

As the bell above the door chimed Qaltnat spoke as they flitted around the room coughing up pine smoke, “Now they have some real problems,” the pause was short but filled, “someone should really help them.”

 

“They are a paycheck Qaltnat, the only thing wrong with them is their imagination.”

 

Qaltnat spun and swirled before stopping to stare me in the eyes, “As you say, as you say, as you say, we shall talk about it another day, for now, can we go for berries, I hear of berries in the mountains and that means for sale along the roads?”

 

I smiled a simple life when all the creatures around me were so easy to please.

 

 

End

 

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on amazon.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

 

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page to find more.

271 words 

 

Qaltnat’s Truths

 

I let my eyes tighten, “How do you know that?”

 

“I listened when they spoke silly,” Qaltnat sounded so reasonable and normal it was easy to remember that they were not being either. I looked away from the eyes that stared back at me.

 

The silence built and built until I finally caved as Qaltnat knew I would, “they didn’t say anything?”

 

“Well, that’s true,” Qaltnat’s head tiled as the words tumbled into the air as if stating the most obvious thing in the world.

 

I frowned, “so you lied?”

 

Qaltnat spun quickly around and around before stopping staring into my eyes. The offense plain within their eyes. I had never seen them so angry before, “Obviously not! I can’t lie.”

 

I shook my head, “but you just said.”

 

With a huff, Qaltnat raised their head in pride and sputtered, “I didn’t lie you just didn’t understand.”

 

Now it was my turn to sputter as I pointed my finger at my chest, “I didn’t understand…”

 

Qaltnat waved in the air as if there was nothing to be said. It was like a shrug, a laugh, a sigh of acceptance, “humans have difficulty interpreting even obvious truths.”

 

“We are speaking the same language,” dripped from my mouth in frustration. When Qaltnat got like this there was nothing one could get from them, just more random words strung together.

 

“Are we? That seems unlikely,” Qaltnat sounded genuinely curious as if the very idea of language was so foreign that they could not be sure, and as Qaltnat’s confusion sounded more and more honest I could feel my own surety flitter upon the wind. 

End

 

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on amazon.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

 

A short story in construction, working on editing and adjusting. This one is an attempt at flash fiction. If you enjoy it please visit my Short Stories Page to find more.

871 words 

 

That is when I picked you up. You had hit the ground and the cold cement was wet from your blood and the rain. Your palms ached from hitting the ground. The pain sharp and stinging. Your knees scrapped deep enough you did not want to move them. You wanted to lay there, you wanted to sink into that wet cement and let the world suck you up and drink down all your pains and woes. You wanted it all to end, just be over, to just let the light take you and drink you into its warm embrace. But only the moon shone here, you were safe from the light.

Part of you wanted to cry, but you weren’t used to crying. Crying was a foreign idea, sure you had seen others do it, but it was not something you had ever really been allowed to do, not in this lifetime. So you did not cry, but then how would you find release in this brightest most painful moment in your life. But you had survived it, you had pushed your way through and it was over for now.

Over sounded so good, so pure, so momentarily necessarily. The grit nuzzles into your hair as you turn your head and block out the light. You survived, but did it leave you with the ability to keep surviving. How deep into the cement would you have sunk? How long would you have lain there not weeping into the ground? How long, how deep, if not for me.

But there I was crackling in the light. Filled with enough indignation for all of us. My hands pressed firmly into the cement and the warm skin I felt contacting you burned brighter and wetter. Your teeth ground and your eyes tightened as I reached deep and pulled you up. You were not meant to be on the ground. I could not allow it to continue.

I could see the fire surge back to life as I held you up and we looked at the world together. A world that was filled with pain and not too recent suffering, but we could take care of that, I could take care of that.

Your heartbeat was a steady rhythm and it entranced me. It had been so long since I felt its like. A hard thrumming that pumped blood through your veins like a small electric shock that just kept snapping me back to life. You breathed deeply and coughed out a sigh, perhaps trying to clear the memories of this night away.

But you did not need to worry because I was here now, I was holding you up, I was the darkness to hold you safe from the burning lights of the world. Those that had hurt you would hurt never hurt anyone again, I was here, I had picked you up, I would smash them against the rocks of my rage and their liferaft would splinter and everything they were would drown in the foam.

You would go about your life, you would smile again and that smile would stay, because I was here, I had picked you up, I would be the vengeance you needed. The cobwebs they had cleared would once again be spun around and around to sparkle in the dew and darkness. 

You had made a mistake, perhaps several, but nothing that had happened was your fault. You never hear that so let me say it again, nothing that happened was your fault. It never was, it never would be, pull the poison of your self-doubt out and let it drain upon the ground because this is not your doing, but the doing of the horrible in the world.

The wet cement scraped against your feet and the world was cold inside the t-shirt that was all you wore. The night was young to have already hammered you with so much suffering. Your legs shook as your arms tightened around your body.

Your world blinked.

Don’t worry you are safe.

I picked you up.

Safe in the darkness.

You are on your feet again.

I made you safe.

Your world opens.

Your legs stood firmly your arms at your side. A momentary confusion, wasn’t the moon just up? Wasn’t the night still young? Why did it feel old near complete? Where had the night gone? You stood unmoving staring up at the fading stars, the grass beneath your feet, tickling and wet with dew. So soft, so alive.

I let your hand go now that you were safe, now that you did not need me, now that you were safe from the light.  They were all gone, you would never cry again because of them. You lifted your hand as the sun crawled up from the horizon. The blood covering your fingers was not yours, the blood crawling along your arms and up your shirt was not yours. I had wiped it all away, I had cleared the board, and you would now be able to start again.

My namesake who shares my souls, who let me in, who made me home, who is there in need of my hand to pull them up and make them safe.

 

End

 

If you enjoyed my story remember to check out my others on my short story page, or my books on amazon.

Remember that my all blog posts are put on my Patreon a week to a month before the blog.

I am adding this as a blog page so that it is easy to come back to and share for those that want to check-in. We will be reading and discussing a book every month.

On the 15th of every month, we will post a discussion of our book under the hashtag #DandansBookClub The discussion will go for an entire day before I take suggestions in creating the next 4-6 book poll that will be posted for 24 hours. The winner of the poll then becomes the book discussed for the next month.

Dandan’s Book Club will accept any suggestions, but because of popular demand by those who first wanted to be part of it (and my tastes), we will focus on authors who are BIPOC with an emphasis on female authors. I am also a big fan of speculative fiction, but open to any genre as long as it is available at local libraries and amazon/online book stores as paper and ebook for ease of finding.

Basic Facts of Dandan’s Book Club

Book Discussion on the 15th of every month
Suggestions are taken on the 16th for the next book
Remember to check here to see if there is any theme for that month before suggesting.
A poll posted the 17th for 24 hours to pick the next book
Do not @ the authors unless they see and request that we do (review etiquette).
Tag all discussion with hashtag #DandansBookClub
Be polite to each other.
Everyone is welcome

Our current book for Feb 15th is:

Tanya Tagaq; Split Tooth; Novel
Find it at: 19.99 on Good Minds or $12.99 on Amazon Kindle

Month Themes

I’d note that a book of weird fiction by a self published Latin Author that has 0 TW could be nominated at least 4 months on here.

Open to theme change suggestions.

January: Dandan’s choice
February: Black Authors
March: No books that need trigger warnings
April: Indie and Self Published only
May: Asian and Pacific Islander Authors
June: Novellas
July: Occupations/Dystopias
August: Nonfiction
September: Latin Authors
October: Horror
November: Indigenous Authors
December: Weird Fiction

Future suggestions:

Tasha Suri; Empire of Sand; Novel $4.99 on Amazon Kindle


Jeannette Ng; Under the Pendulum Sun; Novel $6.99 on Amazon Kindle


Nalo Hopkinson; The Salt Roads; Novel $7.19 on Amazon Kindle


Octavia Butler; Parable of the Sower; Novel $10.06 on Amazon Kindle (free with Prime)


Nnedi Okorafor; Binti; Novella $1.99 on Amazon Kindle

Please note the hashtag changed from #OurBookClub to #DandansBookClub by popular demand (someone was already using it).