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RE: not everything is a poem - Melita - 08-21-2024
Changes over the years must’ve altered multitudes, because then Melita didn’t know what to do in the wake of information and tidbits. Almost like a kindness, and she arched her brow, waiting for something else to flicker and falter, like an ember, like a coal, ready to be rekindled and incensed. But nothing so dire or outright came about it, and so she was forced to remain that subdued provocateur, confused and rattled. [say]“Oh, good to know. Thanks.” [/say]
As for all of the echo shark remains, her eyes went back to where the dirges and pieces left of the carcass drifted downward, where scavengers could tend to the means. [say]“Huh,”[/say] was all she could manage to say – brows furrowing before shrugging her shoulders, adjusting the portions of her own kill. [say]“Well, see you around sometime then.”[/say] She guessed, beginning to haul and carry her armaments off, hastening her companions along. The whole situation had been a bizarre thing on both their parts – and she still wasn’t certain on where they lingered with all the precarious lines in the sand. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
[FIN]