Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
The only ghosts Melita could see, could hear, were her own – and they weren’t in this midst now. Not when she was a flurry of fire and bone, every movement an ignition of something, every step, every stride, every motion a fluid trace of exactly what storm she could compel. Her uncle appeared calm, nearly disinterested as he stared out the window, but the might and ferocity didn’t leave her blood, didn’t fray away; stark contrasts in the moment, maybe. Until his skull shifted towards her swiftly, and she must’ve said something that sparked and singed; wondering if her suspicions had been correct.
If something else was going on.
She finally stilled at his quiet inquiry, as if her body could no longer keep up with her tidal wave of thoughts. Arms crossed over her chest, staff permitted to return to its hold along her back, while her brows furrowed, measures and means of notions. The name of the group springing from his mouth, echoing along the office, meant nothing at all to her – she couldn’t dive into its sanction, into its contortions, when its title had never reached her ears. “No. It sounds pretentious.” A sneer half-curled along her lips, a tilt of her head to indicate she was listening, a pause in the tempestuous sea, in the mercurial inferno. “What is it?”
If something else was going on.
She finally stilled at his quiet inquiry, as if her body could no longer keep up with her tidal wave of thoughts. Arms crossed over her chest, staff permitted to return to its hold along her back, while her brows furrowed, measures and means of notions. The name of the group springing from his mouth, echoing along the office, meant nothing at all to her – she couldn’t dive into its sanction, into its contortions, when its title had never reached her ears. “No. It sounds pretentious.” A sneer half-curled along her lips, a tilt of her head to indicate she was listening, a pause in the tempestuous sea, in the mercurial inferno. “What is it?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
