Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
She looked momentarily stunned as the broom was handed to her – eyes widening, jaw slackening, bewildered into some kind of confusion – just long enough to take the handle out of habit rather than truly yearning to clean. “Oh,” she muffled, blinking steadily. Then she snorted as everything else came back to her, a quick little sigh and ease of breath following the change of pace.
Her actions were rendered into sweeping, rather than anything else, action instead of sinking, action instead of brooding, action instead of seething. “Yeah, yeah,” and she waved her hand at him in a shooing motion, jokingly, amused, as if she didn’t believe him to hold up his end of the bargain. Something wanted to croak and lurch out of her, but she muffled it downwards. I hope we’re all going to be okay hovered in its midst, but unwilling to bring the mood further down, she simply swept a series of dust particles his way.
Her actions were rendered into sweeping, rather than anything else, action instead of sinking, action instead of brooding, action instead of seething. “Yeah, yeah,” and she waved her hand at him in a shooing motion, jokingly, amused, as if she didn’t believe him to hold up his end of the bargain. Something wanted to croak and lurch out of her, but she muffled it downwards. I hope we’re all going to be okay hovered in its midst, but unwilling to bring the mood further down, she simply swept a series of dust particles his way.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
