Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Even if she couldn’t, the honeybee would’ve tried anyway. “Sure.” Away from the rocks and pools, she brazenly wandered over to the outskirts of the woodline, looking for some dried proportions. Considering the last season they were in, and the level of heat, Melita presumed there’d be some scattered amidst the brush, and while it took a few minutes, managed to come back with a bundle of sticks and leaves in her arms.
Placing them along the fire, intending to let it roar, her eyes immediately went to the other remnants, watching as the stones began to take shape – tending to the flames every so often, listening for the sizzle, snap, crackle, and pop.
Placing them along the fire, intending to let it roar, her eyes immediately went to the other remnants, watching as the stones began to take shape – tending to the flames every so often, listening for the sizzle, snap, crackle, and pop.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
