every time she burns to ashes
The maybe dropped along the wood grains, the empty glass of beer, the unknown frightfully close to a paralyzing juncture. The truth was that she didn’t know anything either – didn’t know how to make this right, didn’t know how to cure them, didn’t know how far this stretched or if it would ever end. For some reason it felt worse than the blight, because everyone could be infected (and how were the Ascended, when they’d always said -)
“I know. I want you all to get better too,” coiled from her mouth, and she went to pour him some more beer, sliding the glass out of his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.” It might have been very little, but if she kept searching, kept broadening the horizon, kept asking, kept looking, then perhaps there was something or someone who comprehended a little more. She felt like they were an island now, presently floating amongst their ignorance, and the threat of drowning under it all-consuming.
But his next words slammed against her heart, stuck a dagger deep within the organs, so much that as she returned to him the glass in her hands shook; the reel of a hiss clustered behind her teeth, the monumental rage suddenly building and bursting behind her eyes. I’m not my father’s daughter echoed in her mind, bestial and not at all quiet. It was a deafening roar, a billowing howl, and she wished she could’ve shouted it from the rooftops, from the inner sanction of this freshly laden hellhole, so he’d never say it again. Instead, it came down with a loud slam of the resin against the table. “I’m not that piece of shit. And I never will be.” Then she sat down, curling back up again, not here to be thwarted and mauled by such agony. Still, it twisted around and around and around, contorting and choking, wondering just how far blood traversed into actions. “So don’t say that ever again.”
“I know. I want you all to get better too,” coiled from her mouth, and she went to pour him some more beer, sliding the glass out of his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.” It might have been very little, but if she kept searching, kept broadening the horizon, kept asking, kept looking, then perhaps there was something or someone who comprehended a little more. She felt like they were an island now, presently floating amongst their ignorance, and the threat of drowning under it all-consuming.
But his next words slammed against her heart, stuck a dagger deep within the organs, so much that as she returned to him the glass in her hands shook; the reel of a hiss clustered behind her teeth, the monumental rage suddenly building and bursting behind her eyes. I’m not my father’s daughter echoed in her mind, bestial and not at all quiet. It was a deafening roar, a billowing howl, and she wished she could’ve shouted it from the rooftops, from the inner sanction of this freshly laden hellhole, so he’d never say it again. Instead, it came down with a loud slam of the resin against the table. “I’m not that piece of shit. And I never will be.” Then she sat down, curling back up again, not here to be thwarted and mauled by such agony. Still, it twisted around and around and around, contorting and choking, wondering just how far blood traversed into actions. “So don’t say that ever again.”
she knows how to rise again
Melita
