deep down the hollow

SUNJATA

the flood

all the drinkin' and the druggin' and the black and the red
the achy skin and all the sweat in my bed

It isn’t Melita he sees at first. No, he follows the trail of diamond crabs, scanning through the wavy heat to spy a red head approaching. And he knows somewhere inside she should be familiar, but it warps and shifts like a mirage, and for a moment all he can piece out is that he knows this person. The hey that rumbles our sounds deeper to him than it is in reality, and he squints as Melita approaches — only not seeing her. He sees her father, and for a second his lip curls, a brief memory of rain and blood, a cocky twist to Gaal’s lips while he’s carted away.

Is this his end too? He can’t tell. Has Gaal arrived to take him when he couldn’t do it before? He shivers under the idea of it, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His gaze tears away from her, fists digging into the dirt at his side, knees drawing up in a sign of weakness and being unable to mask what he wants to, to pretend to be that suave person again.

But when he finally looks back at her, Gaal doesn’t stand there. No, it’s Melita, and the worry that’s grown in the pit of his stomach grows bigger as he wraps his arms around his legs and presses his forehead against his sandy knees. “Mel…?” He croaks out, muffled behind the legs, eyes squeezing shut.

i think i'm losin' too much
but there's just never enough