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| Thursday, March 27, 2008 |
| Boots |
She walks along, her boots keeping the loud wretched clip clop clip clop sing song horselike sound of her pace.. one sounding more hollow than the other.
She stops and picks up her foot, bending precariously.. balancing on one leg to look at the bottom of the empty sounding heel of her boot.
"Damn."
Somehow she has lost the little strangely shaped cover that fits perfectly over the platform of her heel.
She considers.
"damn," she whispers softly.
She loves those pointy ol' boots, even though she rarely wears them, and when she does they squish her toes together just enough to create an ache that endures deep into the following day.
They are black with silver butterflies outlined in stitching on the toe, the body of which is composed of silver beads.
The toe butterfly has a twin stitched to the body of the boot that houses the calf.
'Ah well, shootz. Can't take them with me when I die.'
She strips the boots off and drops them in the trashbin, revelling in the glory of her quiet pad pad padding feet on warm concrete.
She wears a soft smile on her lips, as she hums along. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 3:49 PM  |
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