The Blacksmith of happyness’ naked body, IRS-troll, agencies and the sun

She, the blacksmith of happiness, walked tired through the sleepy city streets. In so many years she had worked for a few bucks from far and near, she forged happiness for all who asked for her advice.
Her clothes were of old cast-off rags, which had once been beautiful and modern clothes, and since been donated to her.
Everyone knew that she had her hard times, but she smiled when someone met her gaze, for an experienced blacksmith of  happiness knows when luck is on its way.
She had gone far in her rags and just rusty safety pins holding the clothes still on her body, so she hurried through the streets, hoping to reach home before the sun broke out.

She felt a pang of conscience hit her heart, the sun had always been a dear friend, now she had been hideing from him. There were many thoughts that hammered into her head as she hurried her bruised and cold body over the hills and through the streets, determined to crawl into hiding before the sun outcrop.
Almost halfway home, she lost the sole of one shoe, a pair of safety needles had gone up along the way and a white, naked shoulder appeared.
She thought of all the times she had as a child, running around naked on the beach, the sun had warmed her little body and the sea had loveingly kissed her long hair,that the sun had dried, laughing with the wind.
Every night the moon had listened to her crazy stories and provided her with dreams she could present to the sunlight the next day.
The wind had carried her wishes, he had with his raspy voice, spread them out to all directions, north, south, east and west, she was a child of the sun and the moon’s daughter, her father was Jupiter and Venus’ son.

Now her life had changed into a different story, she was equally poor and sore as the city’s loose cats. She curled up over the winds whispering voice: «Stella, you are so cold and the sun has been looking for you through several solstice, the moon says you do not dream your own dreams anymore.» She turned her face away from the wind as he, with a cold gust, licked away a tear from her eye. She said nothing. «Jupiter is disappointed, he thinks you’re a poor blacksmith, forging the happiness of others, but all he has bestowed upon you, so let it hibernate.» The wind was breathing heavily «there’s a lot of rumors about you Stella, Venus cries because of your lonely heart.» This was too much for Stella, she took a deep breath, so as not to reveal a gasp, it was not easy being human. She breathed in so powerful that the last pin that held the rags on her body, broke. With eyes full of tears, it was difficult to see how the rags fell on the dark ground. With a few shakey movements, she pulled them over her waist, the same moment as the first sunrays appeared.
The wind shook her clothes, so hard that she was left standing naked.

The moment the sun rose, she stood alone and naked, with her face hidden in her hands. It was seconds long as eternity, she trembled, her body was pale and thin. The sunlight revealed all the bruises and wounds that the rags and darkness had covered.

The sun shone so strong that  her eyes hurt, she could not hide it anymore, she, the blacksmith of happiness, had become IRS-troll’s slave.
The wind’s wild and furious journey, back and forth, he sighed, the sound was like thunder and whips.
The sun warmed her, but as he locked his eyes on her ravaged body,the light shined so bright that she had to keep her eyes shut. There she stood and responded to the wind and the sun’s questions about where and who.
She explained as best she could that she had saved her dreams, forged of happiness  for all who sought her. Her heart was lonely because she worked hard, but was never free from IRS-troll’s slavery.
For every time she dreamed, came one of IRS-trolls buddies and shattered her dreams, every time she forged happiness, took the tax-payment-troll her money.
All wounds, bruises and scars, she received after the punches and kicks from the trolls buddies and Tax troll himself, every time she had forged her own happiness. It was certainly a law against those who had wealth, not allowed to keep some for themselves.

This is a story about all the stars out there that hide the brilliant light of their own genuinitet, for anyone who does not dare to shine.

-Belinajewel-

Lykkesmedens nakne kropp, Skattetrollet, etatene og Solen

Hun, lykkesmeden, gikk sliten gjennom byens sovende gater. I så mange år hadde hun jobbet for noen få slanter fra fjern og nær, hun smidde lykke for alle som ba om hennes råd.
Hennes klær var av gamle avlagte filler, som engang hadde vært  vakkre og moderne klær og siden blitt donert til henne.
Alle visste at hun hadde dårlig råd, men hun smilte når noen møtte hennes blikk, for en erfaren lykkesmed vet når lykke er på vei.
Hun hadde gått lenge i fillene sine og bare rustne sikkerhetsnåler holdt klærne fremdeles på kroppen hennes, derfor skyndtet hun seg gjennom gatene, i håp om å nå hjem før solen brøt frem.

Et stikk av dårlig samvittighet gav seg til kjenne i hjertet, solen hadde alltid vært en kjær venn, nå gjemte hun seg for ham. Det var mange tanker som hamret i hodet hennes idet hun jagen den forslåtte og kalde kroppen over haug og hammer, fast bestemt på å krype i skjul før solens frembrudd.
Nesten halveis hjemme mistes hun sålen av den ene skoen, ett par av sikkerhetsnålene hadde gått opp underveis og en hvit, naken skulder kom til syne.
Hun tenkte på alle gangene hun som barn hadde løpt naken rundt på stranden, solen hadde varmet den lille kroppen og havet hadde strøket kjælent over hennes lange hår, som solen, leende, hadde tørket sammen med vinden.
Hver kveld hadde månen hørt på de sprøde historiene hennes og forsynt henne vel med drømmer hun kunne legge fram i sollyset neste dag.
Vinden hadde båret hennes ønsker, han hadde med sin hese røst, spredt dem ut til alle himmelretninger, nord, sør, øst og vest, hun var et barn av solen og månens datter, faren hennes var Jupiters og Venus’  sønn.

Nå var historien blitt en ganske annen, hun var like fattig og sår som byens løse katter. Hun krøp sammen over vindens hviskende stemme:»Stella, du er så kald og solen har lett etter deg gjennom flere solverv, månen sier at du ikke drømmer dine egne drømmer lenger.» Hun snudde ansiktet bort fra vinden idet han med et kaldt gufs, slikket bort en tåre fra hennes øyne. Hun sa ingenting. «Jupiter er skuffet, han synes du er en dårlig smed, du smir lykke til andre, men av alt han har skjenket deg, så lar du det ligge i dvale.» Vinden pustet tungt «ryktene er mange Stella, Venus gråter over at hjertet ditt er så ensomt.» Dette ble for mye for Stella, hun trakk pusten dypt for å ikke avsløre et hikst, det var ikke enkelt å være menneske. Hun pustet inn så kraftig at den siste nålen som holdt fillene på kroppen, brast. Med øynene fulle av tårer, var det vanskelig å se hvor fillene falt i mørket. Med noen fomlete bevegelser fikk hun akkurat dratt dem over livet idet solens første stråler kom til syne.
Vinden rusket i klærne hennes, så hardt at hun stod naken tilbake.

I det øyeblikket solen stod opp, stod hun ensom og naken, med ansiktet gjemt i hendene sine. Det var sekunder, lange som evigheten, hun skalv, kroppen hennes var blek og mager. Sollyset avslørte alle blåmerker og sår som fillene og mørket hadde dekket over.

Solen strålte så sterkt at det sved i øynene hennes, hun kunne ikke skjule det lenger, hun lykkesmeden, var blitt skattetrollets trell.
Det tordnet i ørene hennes av vindens ville og rasende ferd, frem og tilbake suste han, lyden var som piskesmell.
Solen varmet henne, men idet han sperret øynene opp på den herjede kroppen hennes, ble lyset så sterkt at hun måtte holde øynene igjen. Slik stod hun og svarte på vindens og solens spørsmål om hvor og hvem.
Hun forklarte så godt hun kunne at hun hadde spart på drømmer, smidd lykke etter lykke for alle som oppsøkte henne. Hjertet hennes var blitt ensomt fordi hun hun jobbet hardt, men aldri ble fri fra skattetrollets slaveri.
For hver gang hun drømte, kom en av skattetrollets etater og knuste drømmen hennes, for hver gang hun smidde lykke, tok skattetrollet betalingen hennes.
Alle sårene, blåmerkene og arrene hadde hun fått etter slag og spark fra trollets etater og Skattetrollet selv, for hver gang hun hadde smidd sin egen lykke. Det var visst en lov mot at de som ikke hadde rikdom med seg, ikke fikk beholde noe selv.

Dette er en historie om alle stjerner der ute som skjuler det glitrende lyset fra sin egen genuinitet, for alle som ikke tør å skinne.

-Belinajewel-