Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
She’d stepped and paraded in her usual emboldened way, and the sorrow in response was enough to make her bow her head. She twisted her fingers together, uncertain and unsure, as she’d been every time the notions of the war were brought up – knowing she’d long since picked a side, and understanding just how much pain would come with it. “Sorry,” was a low murmur, a shrug of her shoulders, an intertwining of emotions by the multitude. For several instances, Melita’s mouth open and closed, as if there were many words she yearned to convey, but none of them were quite right; perhaps one of those few, feral moments where she bit her tongue.
Only thereafter, when time stilled and passed, curled about her embers and ashes, could she conjure anything at all. “I don’t know how to make it any better.” How to stop it. How to cease and desist what was looming on the horizon. Offering when and where she could, warning when it was necessary, but the reality pulsed and beamed just the same.
Only thereafter, when time stilled and passed, curled about her embers and ashes, could she conjure anything at all. “I don’t know how to make it any better.” How to stop it. How to cease and desist what was looming on the horizon. Offering when and where she could, warning when it was necessary, but the reality pulsed and beamed just the same.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
