Half Off
By David Massengill
She stood in the low-lit corner of the shoes department, gazing at the beauties resting on the glass shelves. She considered how just one of those pairs could transform her so completely. Maybe that violet pair, or the ones with little feathers on the strap, or the high heels studded with pink diamonds.
“Which shoes would you like to try on?”
He had finally come. He was Italian-looking, and bearded. His hands appeared delicate enough to be aristocratic. He wore a sky-blue suit.
“Aren’t you supposed to know which ones are for me?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous.
He gave her a confused look and then smiled. She imagined that smile in a banquet hall where flutes played and lords and ladies bowed and her prince rose from the table for a dance.
“I’ll just grab a pair from the stock room,” he said.
The shoes were turquoise with red stripes and spiky heels. She was unnerved by the large red spot on each toe, but when she looked closer she saw that the spot was actually the image of a ladybug.
“They might be a bit bold for you?” he asked, kneeling before her. “I picked them because customers have been crazy about this designer.”
“All that matters is that they fit,” she said.
She slipped off her weathered black pump and lifted her bare leg. His fingers felt warm as they guided her foot into the shoe. She saw a thick vein bulge on the back of his hand.
“A match?” he asked as she stood.
She touched his shoulder to balance herself. She looked down at him and said, “A perfect match.”
She waited for him just inside the entrance to the department store. She glanced at herself in a tall mirror framed by white lights. She saw that her new shoes’ prettiness cancelled out the plainness of her gray dress and the flatness of her brown hair. Her eyes seemed as bright as the light bulbs attached to the mirror. She danced as she waited, and she only stopped when an elderly couple walked by and the white-haired woman muttered “manic” or “maniac.”
She moved outside.
Her prince exited the building just after the lights in the windows went dark and she saw her silhouette swaying in the glass.
She rushed toward him, and he gave her a startled look. His eyes soon showed recognition.
“Did you leave something in the store?” he asked. “I can get a security guard to let you back in.”
“I don’t see our carriage,” she said. “Sometimes it’s hard to spot the horses in the evening, especially if they’re black.”
He grinned awkwardly, and then he gave her a judgmental look, as if he’d decided something about her. “Excuse me,” he said, walking past her and into the parking garage.
She followed him to the elevators. She was trying not to be angered by his unprinceliness. “I suppose we could take your car to the castle,” she said. “But then we wouldn’t be able to watch for the mating of the night birds.”
He glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. Please leave me alone. I’m going to meet my boyfriend.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt as if he’d punched her in the ribs. She stepped out of her new shoes. They were contaminated with deceit. One of the shoes tipped over on the gum-stained cement.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside. She picked up her shoes and went in after him.
“I know what you thought,” she said, her face burning. “‘Here’s this lowly girl in rags. I can fool her by professing my love to her.’”
He kept pressing the button for the Underground Level. He shook his head and said, “I never professed anything.”
“Impostor!” she shrieked. She hit him repeatedly with one shoe, and he turned his face away from her. She aimed the heel at his throat until skin split and blood spurted.
She developed blisters as she ran across twinkling city streets and onto the train that delivered her to a distant, shadowy intersection. As she climbed the stairs to her studio apartment, she saw the imprisoning trees inching closer around her building.
Inside, she kicked off her new shoes onto the growing pile of footwear in the corner of the living room. All those shoes mocked her with their elegance and their partnerships.
She thought how she’d become more wretched than a lonely peasant girl. She was like a monster from some fairy tale.
She collapsed on her single mattress and slept until just before the malls opened.
- - -
Over 40 of my short stories and works of flash fiction have appeared in literary journals, including Word Riot, 3 A.M. Magazine, Eclectica Magazine, Tainted Tea, Pulp Metal Magazine, and MicroHorror, among others. I have received grants for my fiction from both Seattle’s Artist Trust organization and Seattle’s Office of Arts & Cultural Affairs.
By David Massengill
She stood in the low-lit corner of the shoes department, gazing at the beauties resting on the glass shelves. She considered how just one of those pairs could transform her so completely. Maybe that violet pair, or the ones with little feathers on the strap, or the high heels studded with pink diamonds.
“Which shoes would you like to try on?”
He had finally come. He was Italian-looking, and bearded. His hands appeared delicate enough to be aristocratic. He wore a sky-blue suit.
“Aren’t you supposed to know which ones are for me?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous.
He gave her a confused look and then smiled. She imagined that smile in a banquet hall where flutes played and lords and ladies bowed and her prince rose from the table for a dance.
“I’ll just grab a pair from the stock room,” he said.
The shoes were turquoise with red stripes and spiky heels. She was unnerved by the large red spot on each toe, but when she looked closer she saw that the spot was actually the image of a ladybug.
“They might be a bit bold for you?” he asked, kneeling before her. “I picked them because customers have been crazy about this designer.”
“All that matters is that they fit,” she said.
She slipped off her weathered black pump and lifted her bare leg. His fingers felt warm as they guided her foot into the shoe. She saw a thick vein bulge on the back of his hand.
“A match?” he asked as she stood.
She touched his shoulder to balance herself. She looked down at him and said, “A perfect match.”
She waited for him just inside the entrance to the department store. She glanced at herself in a tall mirror framed by white lights. She saw that her new shoes’ prettiness cancelled out the plainness of her gray dress and the flatness of her brown hair. Her eyes seemed as bright as the light bulbs attached to the mirror. She danced as she waited, and she only stopped when an elderly couple walked by and the white-haired woman muttered “manic” or “maniac.”
She moved outside.
Her prince exited the building just after the lights in the windows went dark and she saw her silhouette swaying in the glass.
She rushed toward him, and he gave her a startled look. His eyes soon showed recognition.
“Did you leave something in the store?” he asked. “I can get a security guard to let you back in.”
“I don’t see our carriage,” she said. “Sometimes it’s hard to spot the horses in the evening, especially if they’re black.”
He grinned awkwardly, and then he gave her a judgmental look, as if he’d decided something about her. “Excuse me,” he said, walking past her and into the parking garage.
She followed him to the elevators. She was trying not to be angered by his unprinceliness. “I suppose we could take your car to the castle,” she said. “But then we wouldn’t be able to watch for the mating of the night birds.”
He glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. Please leave me alone. I’m going to meet my boyfriend.”
Her eyes widened, and she felt as if he’d punched her in the ribs. She stepped out of her new shoes. They were contaminated with deceit. One of the shoes tipped over on the gum-stained cement.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside. She picked up her shoes and went in after him.
“I know what you thought,” she said, her face burning. “‘Here’s this lowly girl in rags. I can fool her by professing my love to her.’”
He kept pressing the button for the Underground Level. He shook his head and said, “I never professed anything.”
“Impostor!” she shrieked. She hit him repeatedly with one shoe, and he turned his face away from her. She aimed the heel at his throat until skin split and blood spurted.
She developed blisters as she ran across twinkling city streets and onto the train that delivered her to a distant, shadowy intersection. As she climbed the stairs to her studio apartment, she saw the imprisoning trees inching closer around her building.
Inside, she kicked off her new shoes onto the growing pile of footwear in the corner of the living room. All those shoes mocked her with their elegance and their partnerships.
She thought how she’d become more wretched than a lonely peasant girl. She was like a monster from some fairy tale.
She collapsed on her single mattress and slept until just before the malls opened.
- - -
Over 40 of my short stories and works of flash fiction have appeared in literary journals, including Word Riot, 3 A.M. Magazine, Eclectica Magazine, Tainted Tea, Pulp Metal Magazine, and MicroHorror, among others. I have received grants for my fiction from both Seattle’s Artist Trust organization and Seattle’s Office of Arts & Cultural Affairs.
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