Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
The first remark earned her pause, the seditious angle to her jaw going slightly slack, less narrowing and pinching of her gilded gaze, less danger and flame. Perhaps he knew how to defuse the situation, or understood how much the comment might pierce. “Sorry.” She was; from what she understood, what he’d insinuated, any appearance of that man would be enough to inflict lifetimes of horrors, of terrors, of treacheries. “What do you think is causing it?” Other than a haunting, ghostly season, filled with remnants of spirits and phantoms.
And then he sputtered out his I’ve been busy mantra, and she rolled her eyes, turning and twisting away, to edge along the outer rims of the pool, blatantly kicking at stones now, arms down by her sides, palms and fingers clenching into fists. “Sure.” But there’d clearly been enough time to shoot the shit with Ronin, or anyone else, who’d been privy to the information long before she was. And perhaps that was the way of it – and she should’ve just accepted that she didn’t matter. That after everything, Melita was merely a blip on the horizon, an ember in a bonfire, a pebble in someone’s shoe; meaningless, worthless. They’d already had this conversation once, and maybe that embroiled and irked her further, unfurled her rage in an echo, in the brimming of fire clinging to her tongue. “I’ve told you before – I’m so tired of being left behind. Of not knowing what’s going on.”
A breath drew into her lungs, and she could taste the vitriol, the slide of belligerence settling into her blood. “I always tell you.” Of ghost whales, of sliding into the sea, of coasting along the waves, of every other danger and nuance in between. “Can…can you just tell me I’m not important?” And then she’d know, would hear it from him personally – ignoring the way her tones had changed to something like sorrow and despair, the way she’d begun to hollow herself out, with only cinders to rest along bones.
And then he sputtered out his I’ve been busy mantra, and she rolled her eyes, turning and twisting away, to edge along the outer rims of the pool, blatantly kicking at stones now, arms down by her sides, palms and fingers clenching into fists. “Sure.” But there’d clearly been enough time to shoot the shit with Ronin, or anyone else, who’d been privy to the information long before she was. And perhaps that was the way of it – and she should’ve just accepted that she didn’t matter. That after everything, Melita was merely a blip on the horizon, an ember in a bonfire, a pebble in someone’s shoe; meaningless, worthless. They’d already had this conversation once, and maybe that embroiled and irked her further, unfurled her rage in an echo, in the brimming of fire clinging to her tongue. “I’ve told you before – I’m so tired of being left behind. Of not knowing what’s going on.”
A breath drew into her lungs, and she could taste the vitriol, the slide of belligerence settling into her blood. “I always tell you.” Of ghost whales, of sliding into the sea, of coasting along the waves, of every other danger and nuance in between. “Can…can you just tell me I’m not important?” And then she’d know, would hear it from him personally – ignoring the way her tones had changed to something like sorrow and despair, the way she’d begun to hollow herself out, with only cinders to rest along bones.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
