MELITA
At his remark, a brow twitched upwards, then fell back down as quickly as it’d lifted. She bit down on her tongue, forgoing the multitudes of other things and fragments she wanted to ignite; though none of those notions were his fault. He wasn’t to blame. The youth merely remained blissfully unaware of the world revolving around them – try as she might to settle in amongst the rivulets and subsequent storms. Always on the outskirts, looking in – trying to tear, claw, her way along the fold.Best to layer the ire and frustrations into the melee, into instruction, for now.
He caught her easily though, and she frowned; not particularly surprised, but yearning for that frenetic pulse of achievement and success. It wouldn’t come easily or naturally, never had, and she shouldn’t have expected it then. So instead of tucking her head down, gnashing her teeth, or growling at her efforts, the honeybee breathed, listened, and walked back to where they’d begun.
“Step as I punch,” she repeated, reciting, intending for the words to sink into actions. Her eyes caught his demonstration, and then she maneuvered off to the side, hoping to enact the same motions. Another movement, another outreach, hastened from her, towards his ribs, initiating the steps, the pace, the stride, within the stretch of her swinging fist. “Like that?”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
