Comments Posted By Mintolate Tea

Displaying 1 To 30 Of 45 Comments

hinge

The lid creaked as she pried it apart. A smell like dust and cedar enveloped the little box, and three folded papers greeted her wandering fingers. Special words, the greatest of her life. Last words.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 01.24.2012 @ 1:59 pm

epiphany

One defining moment in a series of bland, racing thoughts, bringing light and texture to their bare faces. Elation and accomplishment. A triumph.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 11.02.2011 @ 10:18 am

passionate

Spending twelve hours perfecting a single sentence. Shoving every emotion you have into that lighter tone no one will notice except to imply a light source. And, never, never backing down.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 10.31.2011 @ 2:41 pm

husband

The pursuit and skillful trapping of, redundant backstabbing and divorcing of, and the eventual renewed longing for, a husband.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 10.30.2011 @ 11:40 am

dense

Couldn’t she see the way they looked at her?! Followed the deep, convex curve of her hips and around, skimming the waist and driving higher, higher-
No. Her eyes acknowledge only him, and he should be grateful, in awe of her. But he’s not.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 09.28.2011 @ 8:37 pm

ant

I crawl, I eat, I center the entirety of my being to one infintiscimal point: a grain I see to build my house upon.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 09.05.2011 @ 8:53 pm

salt

Digging into her knees, grinding scars in that unprotected flesh. She should have studied more, gotten that one answer right instead of… not. She won’t do it again.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 09.02.2011 @ 4:45 pm

sponge

Saturated, soaking, laden with black tar sludge, squishing step by step to a brighter street corner. Trudging and limping and shuffling with the weight of pain turned to molasses in a sponge.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 09.01.2011 @ 7:11 pm

answers

She’s still showing, a little bump under her ribs. They ask her when she’s due, how far along she is, and how the baby’s doing. She purses her lip and ignores the sting in her eyes; never.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 08.11.2011 @ 12:11 pm

step

I’ve climbed ten thousand stairs on ten thousand pikes with ten thousand blank-faced suits careening by on ten thousand little errands when all I want to do is reach the ten thousandth step. One high step, and I will watch the world fly by.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 07.30.2011 @ 12:06 pm

straw

In times of strife the straw beneath their feet provided traction, helping them leap atop eighteen-hands-tall horses and gallop away. In times of joy it decorated the wooden floors with the cacophony of rhythmic stomps, the center and the abandoned of the dance. The nourishment for the livestock, the padding for the comfort of their beds, the nervous habit for a restless mouth – but never the hero, merely the aide. No one remembers the name of the helper in fairy tales, do they?

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 07.11.2011 @ 10:50 pm

maroon

Silk, taffeta, tulle, brocade, velvet, felt, cotton, hemp, polyester blend, chiffon, lace. Is it the color or the style that determines the value?

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 07.07.2011 @ 7:46 pm

wonder

Under his gentle touch, she felt for the first time a sense of true awe in all that has was and is and could be. It was why she begged him to marry her, to let her see the endless cacophony of stars gleaming in his eyes. She gazed at him in wonder, and he turned his back to more scintillating sights.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 06.17.2011 @ 9:56 pm

station

Welcome to the machine, a veritable stronghold of power, greed, and corruption rampant upon the tracks of society. Derailed by instant gratification, it rolls unchecked, destroying all in its path with the precision of metal and coal. Get on, or get out!

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 06.14.2011 @ 3:37 pm

painted

Stretching over boundless horizons, a figure of yellow and pink stands before the precipice, poised and waiting. Waiting for something, or someone, she can never see, captured as wholly as a painting on canvas, a permanent fixture on a dull, white wall.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 06.07.2011 @ 7:48 am

curious

Little fingers groped for the twine, fraying, scraping along soft skin until the light overhead clicked on, blinding large opal eyes. They blinked, adjusted, and settled on the prize so often denied those itchy fingers; a smirk unfolded across cupid’s bow lips.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 05.16.2011 @ 3:42 pm

vodka

Stumbling out of the crowded pub, he tripped his way along gravel streets to the driveway of the school. And then he stripped, whooped, and ran the full mile to the front doors san-trou.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 05.14.2011 @ 2:04 pm

glowing

Her hair whipped across her nose and lashes with the fierce pre-storm winds, her cobalt eyes staring at the fading sunlight. He watched her lips quirk upward, and then those glowing red strands brushed over her skin again, and he pushed them back, leaning into her back.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 05.13.2011 @ 10:01 am

bones

It shattered, leaving splinters of sharp ivory poking through her shin. Her vision drifted with black, her breathing stilled in shock. That immeasurable pain, and still it couldn’t eclipse the sharp sting of her broken heart, left in thousands of pieces by the driver of the same car that clipped her right leg as he sped off.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 05.11.2011 @ 2:07 pm

strength

Why do we reach for barbells, or guns, or money, when we could be striving for self-actualization?

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 04.06.2011 @ 8:02 am

galaxy

Inside the cathedral sat a picture and a name. There were flowers, too, and people, but the life within was inconsequential. The sun shining on his RGB light sensitive paper face – that meant everything.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 04.02.2011 @ 6:01 pm

trusted

How could she trust a man she couldn’t see? He inspired awe, fear, grace, wit, and strength from her limbs at every moment, pressing the skin of her self-perception away from what she knew, and it filled her soul with contentment. He trusted her; that would have to be enough.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.30.2011 @ 4:57 pm

audience

Pausing in that ritual of tiptoeing along little eddies of river grass, her head snapped up, catching the form of a two-legged creature, armed with bow and arrow made from her cousin’s hide and bone.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.27.2011 @ 7:53 pm

classic

Everything about him shouted ‘classic’: his sixties jeans, faded and ripped with care to evoke the perfect sensation of wear; his hair, short and shaved near the ears, well-kept but not gelled; and the violin case strapped to his back, from shoulder to hip, corners of yellowed treble clefs sneaking out of the pocket in the front.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.26.2011 @ 4:35 pm

woven

Bands of silver encasing her thin wrists jingled against one another, delighting in the variation of sound waves they elicited. Given a few days more, their simple, circular shape would become a twisted variant, warped and hopelessly entangled, hanging limply on the mangled wrist of the child.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.24.2011 @ 4:53 pm

shape

She was a malleable, spineless blob of clay, awaiting the inevitable crushing fist of life to smash the last pieces of her withering spirit. Someday, after the clay had hardened and her soul complete, a perfect sphere would be left in her wake, guiding others to shape their own lives by her example.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.19.2011 @ 3:19 pm

scarves

Wrapping, whipping, fluttering in a harsh breeze, it cradled her head from the ice and chill, stroked her neck as night fell over the street lights, and strangled her as his hand pulled the fabric taut until she submitted to the dark.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.11.2011 @ 5:24 pm

control

She couldn’t avoid taking the reigns in their life, choosing his house, his job, his friends, even his clothes. But in the end, he took control; he chose their divorce.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.04.2011 @ 1:47 pm

specific

Running down the street (specifically, sprinting along a pothole-riddled avenue), the girl (Mary) fell (tripped to the ground (dirty pavement). Isn’t specificity amazing (specifically, spectacularly efficient in creating sensory imagery as an essential tool in any writer’s arsenal)?

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 03.02.2011 @ 3:44 pm

keychain

They always wondered why there were attached to his hip. It had to be uncomfortable, all that metal digging into human skin and bone, but it didn’t bother them. They weren’t the ones with tooth marks in their flesh. At least, until the day a stronger metal pierced their frames, saving the fragile, precious organs of their owner. The bullet shattered them into pieces, and they fell to the floor, free.

» Posted By Mintolate Tea On 02.27.2011 @ 3:21 pm

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