but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Melita had expectations of the ocean and its swell, the familiar currents pulsing back and forth, the potent, powerful waves rushing over anything in its path, the splendid flora and fauna lurking and blooming underneath the surface. In some idle wonder, she pondered if her bracelet would carry her over its frame, if she could look like some wretched little Poseidon along the shoal, laughing gleefully in her nymph turns and twists. But for now the sea was something to bask within, the salty spray, the incandescent glow –
Then there was a man springing up from the water.
She stopped, reeled in his direction, ceasing and desisting any trail of thought. Normally she wasn’t one to halt midway, to stop and stare and do nothing – a fight or flight mode pathway in her brain (frequently on fight), but this was such a peculiar notion that she had to simply gape. Her eyes flickered to the unfamiliar frame, and down to the cage, watching crab legs and claws wriggling from its sanction and sector, begging for release. And then it was all suddenly next to her, and her gilded eyes widened, uncertain of where to go or what to do. “Good day,” she echoed, blinking, regaining some manner and matter of fortitude, Fangorn restlessly looming closer to the crabs. “What are you doing?”
Then there was a man springing up from the water.
She stopped, reeled in his direction, ceasing and desisting any trail of thought. Normally she wasn’t one to halt midway, to stop and stare and do nothing – a fight or flight mode pathway in her brain (frequently on fight), but this was such a peculiar notion that she had to simply gape. Her eyes flickered to the unfamiliar frame, and down to the cage, watching crab legs and claws wriggling from its sanction and sector, begging for release. And then it was all suddenly next to her, and her gilded eyes widened, uncertain of where to go or what to do. “Good day,” she echoed, blinking, regaining some manner and matter of fortitude, Fangorn restlessly looming closer to the crabs. “What are you doing?”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
