MELITA
The honeybee took the not bad proclamation, but didn’t bother unfurling a smirk or a snicker, no time to puzzle through the war on her features. Instead, it was the lesson itself she adhered to, broad strokes of movement, watching, waiting, snagging at the maelstroms, at the barrage meant to come back to her. Feinting, dashing, striving to demonstrate all that she’d learned and snagged, that she was a proud student, that she could listen when not burrowed into her own stubbornness. Reading his movements was likely too easy, but she’d clench and grasp at that too, in order to fine-tune her skills, in order to be able to parse through the particulars. A jab, a punch, a flail, earning a strike when a motion lacked fluidity or intelligence, eventually snorting and reeling with a sunshine smile when the motions became smoother. There was an ease, a balm, a cast away sentiment in the lack of complete, utter violence, and merely allowed to be, to perform, to attempt, to hone them into her mind and muscles.She didn’t expect the conversation, and the youth arched her brow, distracted once more. Her brows furrowed for half a second, likely enough time for him to render a notion against her, but she didn’t understand what he’d need, what he’d inquire about. “Go ahead.”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
