but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Keep going was an echo, a line, she eternally crossed. It was her foundation. It was her familiarity. Keep going, become better, do something. Persistence, fortitude, endurance. It varnished over in the singsong rapture of her sister’s lullabies. It lacquered and stuck to her in pieces of her mother’s compassion. She’d burst from the conflagration of perseverance until it marooned, quartered, and harpooned her, washed her over shackles and surf. He wouldn’t have to tell her twice.
She swallowed down the memories boggling her now, forced her mind to concentrate on feints, watching, witnessing, as he went through another series of motions. It was like a trick, a ruse, and the youth smiled at the dedication to even the slightest hint of mischief. When he was done, she went through her own series of mimicking contortions and motions, holding her sword in the same gesture, bringing her blade over, and then twisting it into something else altogether: extending, extending, extending, until it was like another piece of her arm, something blunt and if it were more than just wooden proportions, sharp and serrated. A thrust, a rush, a rampage.
She swallowed down the memories boggling her now, forced her mind to concentrate on feints, watching, witnessing, as he went through another series of motions. It was like a trick, a ruse, and the youth smiled at the dedication to even the slightest hint of mischief. When he was done, she went through her own series of mimicking contortions and motions, holding her sword in the same gesture, bringing her blade over, and then twisting it into something else altogether: extending, extending, extending, until it was like another piece of her arm, something blunt and if it were more than just wooden proportions, sharp and serrated. A thrust, a rush, a rampage.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
