Flash Fiction

An Emerald Wish


wish-1-final-pic

An Emerald Wish by Maria Fokas

Find that picture you once took . . . the one which captured a moment that seemed like any other, at the time. But looking back, you know better now. That picture which hides a gemstone that would take a thousand words to share; the one so special, you don’t dare give away. I can’t recall the exact wording of my wish that day, but who took me there, I will never forget;

Oh, that emerald field of magical whispers.

© Maria Fokas/October 28th 2016 – All Rights Reserved: Photography by mariafokas

Underwater Waves [Finale]


amazing-beautiful-sea-photography-mountain-waves-picutres NEW

Underwater Waves by Maria Fokas


No; it wasn’t a promise to return. It was a promise to love me till death took him away. I recall a time when all I wanted was to make him proud of me. I’d always jump at the chance to be with him; I’d listen to his stories of when I was just a little girl; of how he loved me more than he loved his own life. And no matter what happened, he would always be close.

It was a cold winter evening when he sat me down to talk. He said he had to change his life; that he had one last chance for happiness. I sat still listening to his every word. He didn’t look into my eyes; he sat across from me with his head down in torment for what he had to say. I told him not to be sad; that everything was going to be alright. But he did not smile; he merely shook his head. I swallowed that cold bitter pain in my throat, and held back my tears, and when I was ready to speak, I asked him one question. “Do you love her?” He said, “Yes,” and so I told him to do what made him happy. He smiled with pity, and there was nothing more to say; and that question screaming in my head, that one, I never asked.

In the dark of the night, he got his suitcase ready; only the essentials. Then he washed his face, took a last sip of his black coffee, kissed his wife on the cheek, and picked up his suitcase. She asked, “The girls?” He stopped, opened our bedroom door, and tool a peek inside. “No,” he said, “Let them sleep, I will call them in the evening when I’ve arrived.”

In the morning, when I woke up, my mum said he was gone.

So you see, we were doomed from the start with no one to blame. Every love story that has ever been written, has also been lived. And my God, they have all been beautiful; every single one of them. But I will not regret the choices that I have made. I will not witness such pain in the eyes of another little girl; not by my hand. So do not sorrow for the tears I shed, for my waves were never waves at all, and my words were from a love story of a thousand years ago; in a beautiful world; where nothing is ever lost.

But that call he had promised to make;

I remember waiting.

The End

 

 

© Maria Fokas/May 24th 2016/All Rights Reserved Photography Credits: Ray Collins

Underwater Waves [4]


Stuart Stevenson 2

                                            [Flash Fiction Chapter Four]

Underwater Waves by Maria Fokas


Was it not yesterday?

Here, yesterday is the past; and the past is gone.

No . . . something that haunts you day and night, is never gone.

Her patience abandons her, and madness takes hold of her like a tempest. She will rage against everything she believes to be destroying their paradise. She forgets the truth. She shuts her eyes to her cowardice. In her fairytale she is free; only life filled with vivid colors of youth, and the scent of spring in every scene. And in this lonely place, she was not so alone. The sky knelt down to welcome her smile, as her eyes fixed upon the sun-rays of a new day. She felt a soft breeze, and then a faint melody; the melody of a mockingbird; familiar sounds, but nothing real. Then one by one, those forgotten bits and pieces resurface.

She recalls all those things along the way. The gestures of love; the song of hope. He was a compass of dreams, a philosopher of thought, and she, the goddess of his make-believe. And in the quiet of the night, he sang to her with his laughter as she danced to the chant of his sweet delight. She caressed his pain; sometimes with kindness, and sometimes with silence; and in his endless disbelief, she bore his storms. She had become a friend to a stranger from another world; a world cursed to never be.

Between you and me; The bridges . . . The walls . . . And when they said it was impossible, we showed them how it could be done –

A while, and then halfway before her end, that which she thought had destroyed her paradise, was the thing that saved her. And it was never his fault. It was she who willed him to leave; she feared to dream, so she pushed him away to protect him from her pain. She hoped that he’d betray her; she begged for it to happen, and when he’d refuse, she’d disappear to punish him. He had to be her villain, but he was not. He was a kind man searching for hope. He told her, it would be a struggle, but they would get through it in the end – Oh, and he did try to save her in every way, but some souls cannot be saved my love.

To go back to that day, when trust destroyed her; the day he left with a promise to return, but never did –

To be continued . . .

 

© Maria Fokas/May 18th 2016/All Rights ReservedPhotograph Credits: Stuart Stevenson

Underwater Waves [3]


Harry Fayt

                                           [Flash Fiction Chapter Three]

Underwater Waves by Maria Fokas

The waves pursue your thoughts; they call you their master; their muse. They use words like, unique and genuine. They say, your beauty is rare, and your kindness is precious. Wild with fervor, they play with your mood in the dark of the night. They wet their lips with the thought of your aching needs; they tell you stories, claiming to have seen in the depths of your eyes. They captivate your essence in your every sigh; they wait for you to come in their dreams; they absorb your every gesture. They listen to the rhythm of your breathing; they tell you to let go of everything you knew to be true.

When your eyes turn away, they plead with you to not fear their erotic whispers; they tell you to close your eyes; to feel their energy as they caress your weaknesses. They promise to never harm you; they want only to protect you. They count your every smile; while you thought you only had one, they tell you otherwise. “Trust me, and succumb to your needs,” they whisper in the moonlit world they’ve created for you. You feel their pain, and promise to stay.

When you have proven your loyalty to the waves . . . to him . . . he begins the subtle questions; like, “Do you want me?” You say, “Yes.” Then he wants to know more;“but do you need me?” That question frightens you at first. You explain how important your freedom is to you; that expectations hinder love; that you don’t want to think about the future; only the now exists. This idea ignites a craze in him. He tells you that it will all turn into a need; and you must allow it to happen.

And as you lose bits and pieces of yourself each day, consumed and mesmerized by him, you become vulnerable to his every need. Soon enough, you’ve lost the power to protect yourself from all the things that make no sense. So you stop questioning the chaos and the weirdness, and succumb to his passions; Now you lose your moral values. You stop asking about the other woman he was playing with before he found you; the one he called “mad with fury”. You don’t question his games with women when you have to disappear; nor do you ask for explanations when you return. He tells you that all the others are merely a means to communicate with the outside world, and nothing more. Then he tells you stories about obsessive women he had to throw out of his sea.

 

To be Continued . . .

 

© Maria Fokas/May 16th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Photograph Credits: Harry Fayt

 

Underwater Waves [2]


 Harry Fayt 2 new                                           [Flash Fiction - Chapter Two]

Underwater Waves by Maria Fokas

Every time you attempt to bring yourself out of that deadly rest, the waves entice you to stay; and you fall back into the depths of their darkness. And with each fall, you lose more and more of who you are. Then you lose some more; first your time, then your friends. You begin to isolate yourself from everyone who loves you. They don’t understand how beautiful the waves are. You keep telling them how much the waves need you, and how you need them; and that if you ever left, the waves would be destroyed; words whispered to you in moments of passion, and times they feared you would disappear. But your friends are reluctant; they disapprove. They are unwilling to understand the beauty that you feel; the alluring-moonlit world you have fallen into; the taste of ecstasy. They cannot savor that soft melody of sadness of the waves’ soul, yearning to survive from madness. Your words are lost on them. You hope some day they too will know. But you will not let them take away this gift from you. You build the strongest walls to keep them away, and succumb to your waves as they move according to the moon, and the melody of the winds.

 

To be continued . . .

© Maria Fokas/May 15th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Photograph Credits Harry Fayt

Underwater Waves [1]


paco peregrín photography 22                                      [Flash Fiction - Chapter One]

Underwater Waves by Maria Fokas

How long can you stay under water before it is the end of you?

Can you get used to the pain to the point where you don’t feel it anymore?

As long as there is hope that you will breathe again, you struggle to survive under the waves.

You know that if you stay too long you will suffocate, but you fall into a trance.

You numb your lucid voice which tells you that you will never survive the waves.

If you wait too long, you will never swim back up to the surface.

 

To be continued . . .

 

 

© Maria Fokas/May 13th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Photographer Credits: Paco Peregrín

 

My Darling


Burning Man

My Darling by Maria Fokas

And this child within;

Sometimes gets trapped in thoughts:

“Wish I knew what his heart was feeling.”

Love is a wilderness that cannot be tamed.

This child within,

 Sometimes dances to his subtle tunes; it seems.

She plays with fire, the same way he plays with words.

This child within,

lives in the present with great respect for the past;

Everybody knows how to walk through fire.

But to recall a burning heart without the flame;

It takes a gypsy’s soul  –

This child within,

Surrendered to her anger, but her rage disappeared,

Before the hour-glass was through.

This child within remembers,

The times she held his hand when he was lost.

She recalls,

The sound of his voice when he said hello.

The touch of his lips . . .  she forgot;

But not the way he held her close.

And, sometimes she recalls,

His promise to protect her.

She also remembers his distrust;

His fear that she might one day disappear.

But most of all, that thing she can’t forget;

How much she still cares.

So you see, with such a past –

There is nothing to forgive,

My Darling.

 

© Maria Fokas/April 29th 2016/All Rights Reserved –

 

Rain-Drops


surreal artworks by Christer

Rain-Drops by Maria Fokas

I peeked out of my window this morning at 6 am. It had been raining all night. The misty damp air said, “Get back in bed.” But I keep my eyes on the rain; where stories come from. It fervently thrums on roof-tops, and pavements; drip, drop, babble, drum  – accent on the tempo before another thrum.

I make myself some coffee; my lips tease the blend before I take that sip, then I click on the saxophone. I succumb to those sensual pictures from the late 1940s and 50s before my time. They did know much about the cries of art then. And 50 shades of grey was an elegant combination of vintage statements; not vitro realities of shallow special effects – which by the way – are not so special.

Looking out of my window again – those epic colors of initial beginnings, and into the future I thrust. A silver screen: My life flashes before my eyes, and I see you – what could have been; my heart breaks once again. The rain now absorbed into the buildings hovering over my window but inside my bedroom, there is a blend of spice and ocean hues scratching the surface of who I once used to be. All these things belonging to me; a temporary truth. The saxophone keeps playing, and the coffee keeps brewing in a simple room in the center of nowhere. Through the window, I reach out into an abandoned world; in shades of grey the sound of “Singing in the Rain,” a taste of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” and a longing for “The Glass Menagerie”.

Gray does not seem so grey now. I shut my eyes and I go: I’m in New York; not Wall Street New York, or Manhattan New York – I’m in those neighborhoods with dusty maroon buildings, dressed in black-metal-fire escapes twirling and twirling around their lifeless brick bodies – and I sip my coffee. The rain is tapping hard outside this venerable diner I find myself in; oh the stories it whispers in my ear. But I am distracted by faces rushing by, with no time to enjoy the touch of the raindrops.

I check my watch; time is on my side  – I assure myself. My hand fumbles inside my bag, for pen and paper. And then a premonition; A breath before it happens; unforeseen but inevitable. No! I haven’t started yet – this was not supposed to happen. But it all disappears. Everything fades away, disintegrating back into the world it came from.

Sunrays find their way into my room. The dream is gone.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved

Artwork Credit: Surreal artwork by Christer