shoes - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The shoes had been billed as waterproof. As the ice-cold wintry flood water chilled her toes beyond the point of pain and on to numbness, she cursed her stupidity. The flyer had enticed her with the "low, low price" and the "limited availability." She had jumped at the deal like it was the last loaf in the bakery. The soles were thick enough for proper insulation but the seal between the rubber and the fabric was made porous by clumsy stitching. Now the faux fur around the top didn't look so cute, it was as drenched and ratty as any water-logged dog. But it had done it's job, it had parted her from her cash with it's cheap allure of beauty. Now she had kilometres to march and only wishes to protect her from frost-bite.
The shoes littered the hallway creating their own bed of dusty mud. They lay not in pairs but often far apart, kicked off in random directions the second they were no longer required. Amongst them were the tell-tale leaf fragments of the season which had by now begun their annual migration across the lurid carpet and up the stairs. For any visitor this chaos the doorway was fair warning of what to expect inside. This was not a home where housework mattered, this was the home of people so focused on their individual passions that no-one felt the goal of cleanliness was worth diverting even a fraction of their precious time to. Yet somehow there was time for computer games and social media...
The boots were talking to her again; right through the thick glass of the bespoke shoe store. Their soft leather and high backs were so reassuringly expensive. How could anything ever go wrong in foot-ware like that? The soles were thick and the stitching perfect, the heel just the right balance between femininity and practicality. But she had to wait until her next pay-check and pray no emergency expenditures came up. Because if something else broke she just might have to declare these boots an emergency too, required to keep her sane at work. Just knowing they were on her feet would just be so good. She could stand at her cash-desk basking in their reflected glory, not that anyone else would notice, but she would know.
In the half-light of the reluctant dawn lay a shoe. From its size Mac deduced that the bearer was petite, likely no heavier than the average twelve year old. Yet it was sexy, sophisticated and undeniably high-end. Or at least it had been. Now the heel had broken off and it was plastered with drying mud. A short way off lay it's pair, unbroken, kicked off in haste. He moved around trying not to disturb the mud, there were barefoot impressions; not the rolling motion of heel-strike walking, but only the balls of the foot and the toes. She had run, likely for her life. He nodded to the sergeant who got on his radio to order in forensics. They wouldn't be happy to be woken but this scene likely had time sensitive evidence. The clouds were an almost unbroken layer and the air heavy with moisture. In minutes the constables had it taped off and diversions were set.
In her mother's lifetime Tia had thought her shoe obsession vapid, self absorbed and frivolous. Now she gazed at the perfectly aligned shelving packed with everything from sleek winter boots to heels that spoke of carnivals and nightclubs. Each was packed in vibrant tissue paper scented with the perfume her mother always wore. In each pair was a clue to what her mother had found beautiful and in that way each was a tangible link back to her. As she touched the leather they left the jasmine trace on her finger tips and it was almost as if she was close again, if she closed her eyes she was back in one of those random embraces she so balked at in her teenage rebellion. All thoughts of putting the collection up for sale were expunged. Tomorrow she would call her brother to come put up some shelving in her basement. Seeing them everyday would be too much, but knowing she could visit them was a blessing.
scuffed, polished, cracked, hand made, obviously new, too big, too small, pinching, rubbing, running shoe, runner, trainer, sneakers, leather, thick soled, muddy, lace-ups, velcro, rubber boots, Wellington boots, faux fur topped, shiny, ankle boots, knee high boots, high heeled, designer, second hand, snow boots, snow shoes, smelly shoes.
These shoes have become a second skin, a part of me as much as the blood in my veins. Where once they were smooth, now there are the crinkles and softness that come with age, with the passage of these feet over so many paths. And in this way, they are the same as my face, as the soft lines that spill from the corners of my eyes, those eyes that have born laughter and tears just the same. They stay close by as I rest, when I sleep under the stars, always ready for the next hill-rise, for new paths and journeys onward.