"Couldn't find my shoes. all of them had been stolen one by one by some prankster. there is no other way they would have disappeared.
i looked in the wardrobe. and under my bed. and in the many carrier bags left by the table legs, which look messy and make me stressed and they still haven't got my shoes in them so why do i keep them?
Shirley McFly called me from the opposite bungalow- or bin-galow har har - to label this a 'Mystery' and play Poirot. i explained it's a little too late for silly games and my shoesies had totally walked out on me so she stopped being abrasive to my sensitive state and showed more consideration. She carried on with her investigation, but in secret while i despaired over the loss of my six beautiful silver shoes.
i looked at my bare feet and was hit by a genuine shock. i didn't have toes to paint the nails of. i had nothing but my six legs. now hanging dryly. undecorated. i had to accept myself as a boredom again.
i looked at the mirror and called Shirley on her mobile.she said she had narrowed it down to 2 suspects. the bin men who vigorously shake our homes every thursday at 5 am and thus damage our belongings all the time, or the "Burglar" (with two quotation marks, he specifies), who is a Chief Leader of Fleas living on Floxy (the local hussy fox- likes to hang out by the bridge late at night). i told her we're better off without shoes and better off without makeup on and genuinely better the rawer we come across.
she argued i'm being defeatist, but it was impossible not to be in my case. my shoes. all very gone. and shirley living out a childhood fantasy of solving mysteries with a magnifying glass. i resented her purity sometimes. i resented anyone's innocence when i was miserable. but i didn't ever let my pessimism and hurt shadow my thinking.
i went out shoeless and with a proud smile on. asking for answers. shacking my fist at the evil.
i was met by nothing. emptiness. no colours. no smells. only my shoes. under a big bright light. in the middle of the road. next to them a letter:
i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
written in my handwriting.
i realised my eyes were closed.
i couldn't open them to wake up.
they were already open."
i looked in the wardrobe. and under my bed. and in the many carrier bags left by the table legs, which look messy and make me stressed and they still haven't got my shoes in them so why do i keep them?
Shirley McFly called me from the opposite bungalow- or bin-galow har har - to label this a 'Mystery' and play Poirot. i explained it's a little too late for silly games and my shoesies had totally walked out on me so she stopped being abrasive to my sensitive state and showed more consideration. She carried on with her investigation, but in secret while i despaired over the loss of my six beautiful silver shoes.
i looked at my bare feet and was hit by a genuine shock. i didn't have toes to paint the nails of. i had nothing but my six legs. now hanging dryly. undecorated. i had to accept myself as a boredom again.
i looked at the mirror and called Shirley on her mobile.she said she had narrowed it down to 2 suspects. the bin men who vigorously shake our homes every thursday at 5 am and thus damage our belongings all the time, or the "Burglar" (with two quotation marks, he specifies), who is a Chief Leader of Fleas living on Floxy (the local hussy fox- likes to hang out by the bridge late at night). i told her we're better off without shoes and better off without makeup on and genuinely better the rawer we come across.
she argued i'm being defeatist, but it was impossible not to be in my case. my shoes. all very gone. and shirley living out a childhood fantasy of solving mysteries with a magnifying glass. i resented her purity sometimes. i resented anyone's innocence when i was miserable. but i didn't ever let my pessimism and hurt shadow my thinking.
i went out shoeless and with a proud smile on. asking for answers. shacking my fist at the evil.
i was met by nothing. emptiness. no colours. no smells. only my shoes. under a big bright light. in the middle of the road. next to them a letter:
i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
written in my handwriting.
i realised my eyes were closed.
i couldn't open them to wake up.
they were already open."
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