back to basics

MELITA

Melita maneuvered her way further down the border, touching up on spots she’d missed along the way, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face as she meandered on, struggling to see the forest past the trees. She wondered if it was easier for a man who’d been capable, who’d been strong, who’d been vibrant and mighty, to have fallen to earth with the knowledge of his bestial faculties, but not the muscle or brawn. Or was it more heartbreaking, to have done the bone-breaking, soul-crushing work, and have it evaporated, pilfered away on the strings and notes of death, allowed to come back, but not the same? Did it even matter – because eventually Ronin would gain it all back? He had time and experience, wisdom and sagacity that no one could take away.

She didn’t voice her inquiries. Instead, she hummed a little, a routine, a habit, a bright, spirited tune residing in her essence, stirred usually from restlessness, a favored ditty and strain of her sister’s. She’d drone while Clementine singed, for they all knew Melita’s voice to be a loud, booming thing, incapable of holding a more beatific tune, smile and listen, war away all the inner workings of her mind. “I’ve been training,” the girl uttered beneath the harmonies and strains, as if trying to defend herself from an incoming swarm; hyper-vigilant of her inaccuracies, of her faults, of her flaws, of her desperation become something, someone, better than the scalding, impulsive reach of her barbs and thorns. I don’t mind work passed below her breath, gave no intonation to its thought, stirring the bellows away away away, and holding them tightly to her chest instead. On a lighter note, she raised her head, watched the finishing touches of monster with the brush still in her hand, an odd amount of paint somehow streaked across her nose. “At least you have the knowledge from before!”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight