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Blue Ice


She tasted the sweetness of menthol.

Tendrils escaped parted lips,

Heat filtering down her tongue,

Unlike 43% ethanol.


Blue Ice, he whispered.

She nodded at the glaring emeralds

Watching the stick move to his lips

Her lungs hitched, simmered.


Exchanging liquid smoke,

She fought ensuing emotions

Love. Hatred. Devotion. Disgust.

Feelings she would revoke.


Later she would think twice,

When anyone lit a death stick

Or smelled like menthol.

Memories of Blue Ice.


About Nthato Morakabi

Nthato Morakabi is a South African born, published author working as a Technical Writer for Everlytic and a writer for Gamecca Magazine. He has published short stories both internationally and locally, and is hoping to publish a novel in the near future. He is an avid reader, inspired blogger, and an aspiring digital artist.

4 responses »

  1. Interesting description!

  2. I like the line “feelings she would revoke.” Of course I was expecting invoke, or at least had that in the back of my mind. I love being caught off guard by language, as you do here. That line is heavy with questions. Why revoke them? What would the it look like when she did? An effective and haunting tone. Nice!


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