M E L I T A
The wilderness, just like now, called to her – all her savage qualities, all her untamed minuets, all the timeless pieces of adventure and mayhem beat through her like a bumblebee’s wings. It was never truly locked away; she could be listless on an inhale, then restless and seditious on the exhale, a bristling maelstrom of turbulent emotions and mercurial, tempestuous rhythms. For the moment though, she’s lithe and serene, not disturbed or perturbed by the drone, by the hum of the insects, or the tranquility of Vai. For these scarce seconds, it was peace and repose, not damnation and upheaval, not rebellion and long, eerie nights with no end in sight. She breathed amidst the composure and remembered blossoms, honeysuckle, butterflies swaying with the breeze, emblems and banners of deserts and its Sun God, it’s sun-kissed warmth and tender benedictions. It will all come again, she thought. It can’t always be like this. The worlds couldn’t go on with constant terror and villainy, seditious and unholy, irreverent and vehement; it would devour and consume itself.
They both stood now, handshakes exchanged, no heathen divides, no foaming mouths, no scathing tongues; Melita thought of her mother then, a quick, vivid memory of gentle words and easygoing songs. It went away with the melody of the bees, swift and lost, as they stood beneath brambles and boughs, pondering over the harmonies and mellifluous intricacies of colonies and hives. “Pleased to meet you, Vai,” she smiled and grinned, a beautiful ribbon of truth tucked back into the woods, the copses, the groves, and the glades. The next interval left her wondering though, and a mischievous delight crept into her features – almost impish, nearly devilish, the kind of wink and charm that had left her mother nervous and her sister apprehensive. “We could follow them and find out?”
