Pete the Cat:

I LOVE MY WHITE SHOES

by Harley Burgess

I cannot avoid the grin that spreads across my face as I slip them over my black, fresh socks. The canvas
that glides onto my feet, surrounding them with a snug embrace, is crisp and clean. They nearly shine, straight
out of the package, a brilliant white. Sighing in content, I conrm what I had known all along. This is truly the
greatest gift that I have ever been given. I am in love with these white shoes.
My life hasnt been the greatest lately. You see, Ive been having these urges. Theyre very disruptive
and well, I wont quite get into the details now. These white shoes, they give me hope for the future. These
white shoes are so pristine and clear that I know my psyche will benet just
from having them grace my feet.
I leave for work, and as I walk out the door and down the street
outside of my apartment, I whistle a familiar tune. Today is a good day.
Squish. I look down. My heart drops to my stomach and I
immediately stop whistling.
My right foot is completely covered in blood, staining my beautiful,
white shoe a deep, crimson red. I should be utterly devastated about my
shoes being ruined, but, instead, I drop to my knees in the puddle of
blood. I am completely mesmerized by its shine and gleam and color. It
ripples as I gingerly dip one nger in and bring it to my mouth. The taste
of iron encases my tastebuds and I am surprised by how much I truly enjoy
the experience.
Wow, freak. I am startled out of my pleasure as a young man, utterly
disgusted, looks down on me. Who eats strawberries off the ground?
Strawberries? My gaze drifts downward at the red substance that coats my
shoe and has left a residue on my nger. I am shocked to nd that this substance is not blood, but a collection of
strawberries that has been abandoned on the concrete. Laughing nervously, I shrug at the young man and
continue on my way, nervously whistling my tune.
What has caused this paranoia inside of me? Is there something wrong with my brain? Mere moments
later, my pondering is stopped, once again, by the squish of something underfoot. Frustrated, I huff and look
down. For some strange reason, someone has left a large pile of
1
White Men's Fashion Shoes. Digital
image. 9 Channel. N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct.
2014. <http://img01.taobaocdn.com/bao/
uploaded/i1/
T1BJvDXg8XXXc6N5E._112611.jpg>.
Choking. Her skin against my hands is the best feeling I have
ever felt, and I bask in the euphoria of the moment. I revel in the blue-
violet that her cheeks and lips are becoming; I cry over the beautiful, cool
color. She attempts to inhale and scratches at my arms, leaving gashes
that drip blood onto the ground and on
Hey, man, are you okay?
Startled out of my thoughts, once again, my gaze shoots toward
the sound of a young girls voice. She looks to be around fourteen; her
eyes tell me that she is apprehensive. Despite her anxiousness, she is a
very pretty girl with long, owing, chocolate-colored hair. I smooth my
own hair back and straighten my suit jacket. Thank you for your
concern. Im just a bit upset about my shoes, is all.
With that, I quickly walk away, leaving the glob of blueberry jam
behind.
My path to work usually takes me through some unpaved roads, so I
am not surprised when I feel the familiar squish underfoot again. The
familiar scent of earth lls my nostrils, and, this time, I feel a sense of
security and ease. The brown mud that now covers my shoes reminds
me of that young girls chocolate hair, of cool autumn evenings, and of
burying my ex-wife in the ground. It is a nice moment and I pause to
revel in it.
I still have callouses all over my hands from the shovel. It was back
breaking work, yes, but I had to put her somewhere. I tried to stop, but
it was just too euphoric to feel her throat against my straining palms
and savor the taste of blood in my mouth, produced by her neatly
polished, dagger-like nails tearing at my face.
This time, I am undisturbed in my daydreams, standing in the
middle of this muddy road, my feet covered in mud. Smiling, I continue walking and no more than two or three
minutes later, I felt another sensation under my feet. Water soaked my shoes and socks, washing away all of the
beautiful colors that had covered them before. I smiled to myself. My white shoes are now my wet shoes. How
clean and soggy and stained they are.
Picking up my tune, I keep walking. Today is a nice day.
2
Salter, Irena. Squashed Strawberry. Digital image. Flickr.
N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct. 2014. <https://c1.staticickr.com/
5/4062/4696201106_814ec7d4ba_z.jpg>.
Shovel Digging. Digital image. Kingdom Telephone
Company. N.p., n.d. Web. 3 Oct. 2014. <http://
kingdomtelco.les.wordpress.com/2011/07/dig-rite-
shovel.jpg>.