Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Taking her time had never been Melita’s strong suit; much more inclined to barrel onward, forward, with as much audacity and boldness as one could muster. Befitting youth and its volatile moments, she inclined to listen to the directions without getting too far ahead of yourself. Nodding along, she placed the fender down after aligning everything, and then snagged at some sand.
Forced to concentrate and adhere to applying herself instead of skipping off, she ensured there were no gaps, and then snagged at a flattened stone nearby.
Checking at the charcoal (gods, there were so many steps), she noticed it wasn’t white yet. “So do I just keep stoking the fire?”
Forced to concentrate and adhere to applying herself instead of skipping off, she ensured there were no gaps, and then snagged at a flattened stone nearby.
Checking at the charcoal (gods, there were so many steps), she noticed it wasn’t white yet. “So do I just keep stoking the fire?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
