Wednesday, August 18, 2010

For Tanya. Because she asked for it.

Callie yanked the shoe off of her foot and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thunk, leaving a mark. She pulled off the second show and threw that one, too. She scowled at the shoes where they lay on the floor, rubbing her feet.

"The things I do for fashion," she mumbled. Her feet were sore. Very sore. There were big red divots in the back of her heels from where the shoes had dug in for the last several hours. Her big toes had weird marks on the outsides, and all of her other toes were nearly flattened from the way they had been crushed together in the tiny space.

Slowly, with the help of a peppermint-scented lotion, Callie's feet began to forgive her. She wiggled her toes, wrinkling her nose at the slight ache that remained. She stood up, grimacing as the soles of her feet readjusted to standing flat, rather than in three-inch heels. With her feet now feeling better, Callie finally shrugged off the dress she had worn that night, tossing it into the hamper. She slipped into an old Van Halen t-shirt and rummaged in her dresser until she found a pair of fuzzy socks.

Finally feeling more like herself, Callie crossed the room to the shoes that still lay on the floor. She picked them up, smiling at the softness of the leather. "I forgive you," she said, shaking her head. "You're just too cute to give away." Handling the shoes much more delicately than she had when she chucked them across the room, Callie put them away in her closet.

She flipped off the lights and crossed to her bed, crawling between the covers with a sigh. Her eyes closed, and her dreams began to fill with cute shoes and a night full of dancing.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

1 comment:

Jolene said...

Made me smile. I wonder how many days I've done just that.