Other stories for this prompt

I tapped the pencil on the desk, each tap with a rhythmic beat. I was creating a song in my head. A voice snapped out of it, "Daze. Daze, Wake up!" snapped the voice. I suddenly sat up straight and opened my sleepy eyes. "This is the third time this has happened. Please go to the principal's office immediately." I groaned and stood up, in front of the class. I looked upon them before leaving. I saw May, the pretty girl who never bothers to talk to people like me. She had dusty strawberry blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and...

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Mannequin legs hanging from the wall. Nailed by the heels, they create the effect of being suspended in space. I don't know why I did it, but somehow, they comfort me being there, detached from all body and context, the pink ballet shoes seamlessly blending into the leggings and the beige wall. This is my world, this is the inside of my mind - a single flat line, drab, unstimulating. Seeing more vibrant colors, seeing the artificiality of "beauty," seeing a well-crafted world - nothing makes me more angry. My nothing is a word unto itself.

Ben and Jessica are...

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Whose shoes are these? I think I know
The feet are disembodied, though
I think that she will be displeased
To see her shoes adorn a

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The shoes, though pink and shiny and paired with flat white tights, were not what you wanted. "They are not ballerina shoes," you protested, knowing very well the difference from the ballet flats and the pointe shoes and just regular human shoes.

"I want some like yours," you said.

Your mother no longer wore her ballet shoes; she had once been a prima ballerina, and there were photographs of her and postcards in sepia tones that captured her in a moment of what seemed like effortless grace. Arm raised, elbow bent at such an angle that she looked like the...

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The waitress came up and said "Hey, want corn flakes?"

"No," says I. I am busy reading my book, which is about masking tape.

But the waitress is having none of it. "I made these corn flakes myself," she says.

"Okay," says I. "Give me some corn flakes."

She gives them to me. They are red, not orange, but I eat 'em anyway. "Yuck," says I. "These don't taste like corn flakes at all."

"They're not," she says. "They're scabs I picked off my elbow."

She shows me her elbow, which is bleeding lots. All kinds of blood is pouring...

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In order to choose her shoes, Chloe consulted her "Big Book 'o Footwear" every morning while getting ready. Whenever she bought a new pair of shoes, she'd put them on and snap a Polaroid of her feet so she could get a decent idea of how she'd look in them without actually having to try them on. Her fiancee thought this was ridiculous, but she thought it was quite a time-saver. Plus, he had no room to criticize--he often brushed his teeth while peeing.

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Her pink shoes dragged on the wet pavement. To him, it felt like the sound of her heels thundered down the street, causing people to stop what they were doing and looking out their windows at him. He paused for a second and looked around. All the windows were empty, most were dark, the slight sound of shoes dragging on concrete not loud enough to be heard over the sond of rain and traffic. He got to the end of the alley and stopped again, shifting his load over to the other side so that he could reach his pocket...

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It never quite made sense to me, but maybe it's not supposed to. Here, my heels. There, my toes. One to the other and one to the next, and this is called walking. And this way it's called dancing. And this way it's called running.

And stand right here and feel the water, cold and cold and cold and squirming I reemerge, my breath barely able to contain my laugh.

And here are stockings, they go on like this, bunched and then stretched until the legs are consumed. "Oh no, it's up to my toe," I'd sing, remembering. "Oh, gee,...

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My own pink shoes were the last thing I saw. Then, darkness. I tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle in those final moments but nothing seemed to fit. I was supposed to go to work that morning.

Supposed to. That would haunt me. I was supposed to do a lot of things. I was supposed to pay my rent on time, I was supposed to pick my daughter up from school, I was supposed to meet my husband for dinner that night. It seemed none of that would be happening now.

That morning, after taking the dog...

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Cold feet. She wore pink shoes under her white gown to match the theme. Pink. Well, Blush and Bashful just like Steel Magnolias - if you asked her, she wouldn't say Pink.

Cold feet. A pink winter wedding was all she wanted; Blush and Bashful were the colors; THE colors she had to have. Muffs on the bridesmaids' hands, all in the light-colored dresses. And roses. Lots and lots and tons and tons of roses. All in pink and white.

Cold feet. She spent the last 7 years with Austin, and this winter wedding was all she ever wanted. But...

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About the prompt

Originally displayed on:
September 23, 2010


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