We recently had snow in Victoria, BC and it inspired this short story. I hope you all are having a nice December and, just think, it’s almost Christmas time!
One Leg at a Time
“Here are your pants and coat,” mom said, handing them both to me. I was eight now, and there would be none of this put on my clothes for me nonsense. It was a one leg at time routine, sure and steady, pulling up the waterproof red pants over my fleece leggings.
Now in the warm outfit, I slowly made my way to the front door as my bulky legs wouldn’t let me go at the quick pace I wanted. Mom had to help this time with putting on my boots as bending over would have thrown off my balance and sent me headfirst into the wooden shoe rack.
First, she put the plastic bags that once held loaves of bread over each socked foot, one at a time. No snow was going to dampen my feet if we could help it. Then I dove my wrapped feet into each boot held in place on the ground by my mom’s solid grip. No need to ask how I knew that grip was such a good one.
Red of the door that appears. Photo via Pixabay.
Creativity for the day. It has been a while since I shared some of my fiction here. This is my newest short story. It is called Red Door and More.
Red Door and More
Was that door new?
It hadn’t been there yesterday, this morning, two minutes ago, had it? He’d been out of bed at 5:42am and had only consumed half a mug of coffee. He wondered if he was at the woah-my-head-is-making-crap-up stage.
Well, it looks like the latter stage was the one to play with today, thought Brian. Only he wasn’t sure if he would suit the character of the situation well enough as he was hadn’t shaved… yet. As he itched his chin, he considered how many times he’d said that to himself this week. He even pondered whether he’d said it out loud. Not that Ginger cared; she was too busy scratching at the legs of his coffee table anyway.
Another sip of coffee and a thought about the whether he had refreshed her water bowl lately, and then he was somehow down on his hands and knees on the floor. Just to the right of the kitchen counter. Hell there was even a doorknob on this red door.
Knock? He laughed to himself. Yeah, knock and shave. He laughed out loud this time. The sound of fabric being torn met his ears and he knew already Ginger was at work on her project in the living room.
He opened the door and peered through. He couldn’t fit; that was obvious. Ironic, he’d always seemed to come up short for things and now here he was too much for something. He spared himself the emptiness of laughing to a room that wouldn’t respond to him.
Red heels and Jane. Photo: Helen Harrop, (CC BY-SA 4.0), via Flickr
Jane’s Christmas Shoes
Christmas time was coming soon. Jane was only seven years old, but she felt like a big girl. She stood in her mom’s red High heeled shoes that she found in the closet at home and walked around with them on her feet. She nearly tripped doing that last week, and her dad giggled along with her as he caught her in his arms.
“Your mom doesn’t even wear those Red shoes anymore,” he said to her, “so you can have them, Jane.”
How Jane loved those high heeled shoes. She wore them around the house, snuck them In her backpack to wear at school and even kept them under her blanket with her when she went to bed each night.
Then, last week, on the car ride home from school, Jane asked her mom why there was a lady walking on the sidewalk in Sandals.
“That’s silly, mom,” Jane said from the car’s backseat. “That woman doesn’t even know it’s winter and her feet will be cold. Why doesn’t she have proper warm shoes on like I do?”
Jane’s mom didn’t respond as she drove them home. Once back at their house, she took Jane to the couch and explained to her That the woman was homeless, which meant the woman didn’t have enough money to buy winter shoes.