MELITA
Her eyes went instantly to the bow; at least, what remained of its once illustrious veneer. The surface was etched, carved, straight out of sea and salt, as if drained of its wooden form and life. The girl’s hands went to it, gently, easily, calloused palms slipping over age-old timber, pondering the wake of its sculpture, and how it managed to become so adrift. She flexed it once or twice, turning it over, listening to the groan of the wood, the sharpening impact of what was doomed and damned to come. The girl ceased immediately, not daring to push any further. “I think it’s the end of the road for this one, unfortunately.” If it had been treated better, or cared for at all, then it would have maintained its reverence, its ability, its capability. Instead, it’d been left to sink and be eaten away; whatever amount of time allotted gone and done its damage, despite the care the pale woman had put into restoring it. “That’s too bad.” And she was truly sorry for it – to see one of her favored, formidable weapons gone and rendered obsolete. “You could always repurpose it for something else?” Or put it on display, leave it out of the clutches of the sea, where it could rest and remain, its purpose served.help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
