Tell Me a Story – Shoe in the Street
A few days ago, I was walking around the oldest part of New York City. You can see that from the cobblestones. In the middle of an empty street, there sat this lone, colorful shoe.
Writer that I am, I thought, “How did it get there?” And all sorts of ideas started coming to me.
But that’s only half-fun. It dawned on me that it would be full-fun to share the adventure of imagining the story of the shoe. So, I shared the picture on my Facebook page and started it with, “Tell me a story.” I set the word count at 150-ish.
I didn’t know if anyone would answer, so I threw in some minor prizes.
Several brave souls stepped up, and we all thoroughly enjoyed reading each other’s entries. I truly mean it when I say that I had difficulty choosing my two winners. Sometimes people just say that, but I really enjoyed all of the creativity.
The two winner have graciously allowed me to share their stories here with you. Follow my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/camilledimaio.author/ because I am going to run this contest whenever an item sends questions racing through my brain again.
First place: Laura Brubaker-Wittman. I liked Laura’s story because she jumped right into the middle of dialog and really made me feel the angst.
He thought maybe she was crying as she said it, but it was raining and like everything else about her, maybe this wasn’t real either.
But I searched this entire city for you. He thought it, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked down. His tears were real but he’d be damned if he’d let her see.
She walked away then. Not quickly. Not with remorse. But as if she had thrown a piece of trash away, then went about her day. And that is how he felt. Thrown away.
He stood there, in the rain, for what may have been seconds, hours, it felt the same in the night, in the despair, in this never ending downpour.
After another shaky breath, he saw his feet. He had been looking down the entire time, but only now really saw them. One of his shoes was missing. How had he not noticed? As he chased after her all over this god forsaken city, he had lost a shoe.
The shoes he had bought to impress her rich, fancy friends. The cheap, fake shoes, that he had polished and hidden under long pants. The shoes he had saved every penny for, for weeks. Every tip, during those long nights at the dingy bar he had first met her at, all went to those damn shoes.
And they hadn’t been enough. Not enough to impress those friends, not enough to make her happy, and certainly not enough to survive a soaking wet night in New York City.
The one shoe that remained was nothing but a reminder of his failure. He took it off, pulled it apart, fuming and screaming, and finally, throwing it down to the ground in defeat.
And then he walked away. Barefoot, into a dark and lonely night.