Precious as the Stars (Flash Fiction)

Depth is her true magic- her allure in breathless dance…

A man lounging next to her was silent as a fish which was unusual, she noted to herself. She contemplated whether to pick this fish and throw it back into her life or leave it catching breath ashore for yet another woman to pass by and claim it in to her waters.

The beer filled his guts sending relaxing wave along his body. The gigolo in him glanced at her discreetly from under the sun shades and story followed. He was his usual chatty act now.

His best friends’ father was an honest man, true to himself. Once at fishing he had told them, teenagers then: “When a man cannot limit himself, world will do it upon him. If he cannot decline spoils and pleasures voluntarily, he will feel the consequences from the outside. He has to learn control of his tong and then his private parts. The key for you to gain respect with people is in woman’s hands.

Your life is to become a solid surface. The purpose of your life is hardships: to make you harder, to withstand her currents, to channel them. These ships take you on the journeys, face winds of wisdom, wealth and glory, sail you through the storms, crash to be rebuilt again. You are the rock or so you choose to think. You may as well be more of a river bank or sea shore.

She is the stream, river or waterfall, whichever nature made her. Hardships push you to the edge- the cliff of life from which you are afraid to fall and crash to where she may have laid her stream. At those times you wish to have had means to glide as long as to avoid the fearsome feeling of rejection, otherwise, you can’t help it but fall into her waters, into love. And if the fall itself was not exhilarating enough, the dip in water surely will invigorate the senses, make you FEEL.

There may surely be a swamp for you to sink into, the still-standing waters breeding malice the smell of a disgusting acidic burp. You may as well have deserved it! You strain your neck to stay afloat so she does not swallow you in one of those treacherous vortexes that other fallen rocks before you have created.

She engulfs and touches you, caresses, polishes, splashes with joy, cools with the breeze of temper. It is woman’s nature to smoothen up the edges. She moves with life, she is alive and lives to move.

She has one goal ahead: to flow. It’s how she experiences life, freedom, change.  Flow to the ocean- her birthplace and homeland, that which contains her children, loved ones, treasures and shadows of drowned souls as remnants of the wrecked partnerships and friendships- the magnet of unity with force major.

Listen to an old fisherman. Oh, she’s powerful. The wild currents of her spirit and boiling juices of her body may frighten you. Indeed.  You’ll seek control. Don’t build across her flow, do it alongside. Pave her the way, streamline her direction, venture to assess her depth. Eventually she will reveal her nature- a true gift to you. Support it.

Shallow waters afford easy trespass to opportunists. Those are seductive, but beware: depth is her true magic- her allure in breathless dance. Her endlessness, just like the universe itself, is an illusion your mind can not contain thus stalls in hesitation. Bottomless is only well of fear, sorrow and despair. If you did never launch on expedition of your own, you sure will fear of hers…

She will invite you to build bridges, boats and harbors to carry her kids through the tides of life. So as you’ll build along you will flow with her, calming her waters. She’ll flow through you to make you better person. As liquid serpent, she’ll curve around, choose you an obstacle to be on her destined pathway. Her waters are both balm and venom. She asks attention and respect to nature; caution with the betrayals ample in her weathered life. The ignorant and selfish fall prey to sirens of her wounded heart: the shadow creatures of the past, those ruthless mermaids eager to grab and drag, to have your last exhale into their spiteful mouths.

What I am about to tell, my boys, is priceless as the stars themselves. When she comes into your life, ask not her but yourself: Am I sure I suit her? Am I the right man for this woman? Can I make her happy? Do I care for her: does she walk so as she’s weightless, a feather of happy existence, touching no ground when she’s with me? Do I want to make her happy? Do I feel happy when she is happy? And do I miss her when she is not close?”

She glanced at him and almost shouted out “Do you?!”

He noticed this intension; he also knew she’ll bite it. He sat there calm on surface, his shaking foot revealing tension from within. Hesitation, doubt… It was as if he rested on a pier, his legs flipping leisurely ankle-deep in her waters. She knew he avoided water all together if only to cool the blisters on his feet, battered in between his many careless journeys.


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