MELITA
The honeybee girl waited, head tilted, to see if he’d accept her offer or not. She truly didn’t have any other ideas in mind – so it was beneficial to say the least when his wide smile and voice favored the endeavor. Hers was equal in measure. “Wonderful! I can drop it off in a couple days. Where do you live?” After this, she likely could saunter into the woods to find some suitable branch or bough, maybe work a little harder on his than she had on her own (always in a rush; the heedless days swarming over the horizon much more often than deliberate, meticulous ones). On impulse, she raised her bow again, notching an arrow into the quiver, and shot one off at the furthest target – waiting for it to fall, fall, fall, sink into the center, allow some precision in her life, some meaning, something not a variance, not a mistake, not a screw-up. She turned her head before it smacked into the middle of the hastily-laid target, but she could hear the result – the stones crumbled, the wood splintered, everything fell to the ground. The youth shrugged, then chuckled.
At his touch on her elbow, she twisted back to him. “You’re welcome. Let me know if you ever want any more practice.” Her eyes ghosted back to the disheveled adornments in the field. “I’ll have better targets ready next time.”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
