The Black Rose by Maria Fokas
Once upon a time, there was a Rose, who would come to live in the memories of others.
It started with a human hand planting a seed. The Rose and the hand were unique. No two entities could have been more diverse, but there was one thing they both shared, and that was their need to exist. So, the hand knowing that time was running out, decided to plant a seed which was predestined to becoming a Black Rose. And as the hand nurtured this seed into being, the Rose came to know life.
The Nurturer was gone, not long after. The Rose was heartbroken for a very long time, but it survived. Many visitors chanced upon its beauty as the seed kept coming back, only to descend into the soil again. And as the cycle of eternity endured, the Rose would yearn for its Nurturer, not knowing why it had been deserted. And during that time, the Rose would wonder about its purpose. Then one day, its unbearable pain chose to forget. And with this escape, a comforting thought came into being: What if the hand was actually another Rose?
Unimaginable at first, but this strange and breathtaking revelation began to grow within the Rose: if I was created by another Rose, than I too can create one of my own, it thought. The Rose, being captivated by this discovery, chose never again to dwell on absurdities with no graspable explanations.
In the end, it was grateful to that One Rose which gave it hope. This memory, it would hold sacred forever after. And that would become the purpose of the Rose.
Photography by Ketmara