Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Striving to digest all the information, the youth nodded along, but probably should’ve been taking notes on a piece of paper somewhere. Adhering to the first proportions, and shrugging away any thoughts of haphazard wakes, she persisted in the applied directions – ensuring the fire was watched, waiting for the charcoal to be white again before proceeding.
Which had never really been her forte – patience not a virtue Melita had readily considered.
She’d become better at it, but it was obvious there was a squirm to her movements, and staring at the fire, hoping it would soon turn, was far more difficult than it needed to be. But eventually, she noted the hues altering, and so she took the tongs, and pushed the charcoal into the flames. “Okay, what next?” Assuming she’d done even that proportion right.
Which had never really been her forte – patience not a virtue Melita had readily considered.
She’d become better at it, but it was obvious there was a squirm to her movements, and staring at the fire, hoping it would soon turn, was far more difficult than it needed to be. But eventually, she noted the hues altering, and so she took the tongs, and pushed the charcoal into the flames. “Okay, what next?” Assuming she’d done even that proportion right.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
