Every day, many people passed by us, and some stopped and admired us, but in the end, they continued on. They would always say things like “These shoes are too expensive!”

We thought that we were worthless. We didn’t know why nobody tried to buy us. Moreover, we knew that we weren’t allowed to remain on the shelf forever. When the season changed, if we weren’t bought, we would be taken away. No one knows what happens to the shoes that aren’t bought, but it’s been said that they’re never seen again. We were very afraid that we would suffer the same fate.

Towards the end of our season, we were given a final hope: a clearance sale, but instead of being happy, we were sadder because the sale was necessary for us. Was it true that nobody wanted us? Why?

On the final day, we thought that this was the end and we had no hope. In that moment, a young man stopped in front of us. And he picked us up. He had a huge grin and he said “You seem really good. I’m in luck!” And so, he bought us and we could finally call ourselves owned.

As time went by, we learned the daily life of our new owner, who was named Mikal. He was a student at the nearby university, and shared his apartment with his three friends. There were many parties. Eventually, we got used to it. We were very happy with our new lives. We had a family and a home.

One day, Mikal and a friend were arguing. Mikal left the apartment very quickly. He was furious. His friend, Raul, took us and left the house. We were afraid because we didn’t know what Raul was going to do. Raul walked to the park, set us underneath a bush, and left us there. He didn’t return for us. The day changed to night, and we were still alone. The dark was very scary and it was very cold. We were very scared, and we wished that Mikal would find us. But, as the hours passed, nobody arrived looking for us. Another day passed and still nobody came. We thought that Mikal wasn’t looking for us and we didn’t feel wanted. We felt lonely.

That night it was even colder. We began to abandon hope that anyone was looking for us and that there was someone that wanted us. Suddenly, there were voices that were getting louder and louder. Then there was a very bright light. We heard a very familiar voice that said…

“Idiot!” Someone picked us up with gentle hands, “These are my favorite shoes! Don’t take them!”

Immediately, we recognized the voice. It was Mikal. He had come to find us!

“I already said that I’m sorry!” The second voice was Raul, but that wasn’t important to us. Our Mikal was with us; he loved us after all. We realized that in reality, we were very important, and nobody bought us at first because we had more worth than most everyone else. Mikal found us the two times we needed him, and we will always be grateful to Mikal.

***

Yea I know the sentences seem a bit elementary. But that’s what happens when your original composition is in Spanish. Yes, this is the paper I wrote (in Spanish) for my Spanish composition project. We had to write in the past tense about something that wasn’t human. I have some editing to do (in Spanish), but overall I think it came out very well. Hope you like it!

(PS – the title is “The Shoes That Didn’t Love Themselves”)

I don’t know how many of you know, but I have a FanFiction account (you can check it out here). I’ve written a few stories here and there, but I feel like I haven’t really written anything good. There are a couple of stories that I’m working on that a few people like, namely “Haunted” and ‘Retards of the Caribbean”, and I’ve got something like 8 reviews each. They aren’t good enough. I don’t know. I really want to write and update Haunted, especially since I haven’t written in it in over a year, and for ROTC I have a few ideas, but for the strangest reason I just can’t seem to get these plots on paper. And it’s aggravating! I want to write good stories so that 20, 30, and 40 people will comment on and like, like Kimmie’s stories.

She says I’m a “good writer,” but it’s a bias. People that are sucking up to me tell me my writing is good. This one guy on AIM who CLEARLY wants me to date him compliments my writing all the time. All they do is suck up. So maybe it isn’t good, maybe it sucks. I’d like for someone for just come straight out and be real, tell me I should just give up, that I really do suck at writing and to not be so full of myself.

But right now I just want to be able to actually write. I have several projects I want to work on, but I can’t get the thoughts out! AUGH! I WANT TO BASH MY HEAD INTO A WALL!

You jam your key into the lock to the door of your apartment, and struggle with jiggling the key just right while cursing the whole time. Finally, you open the door—the wind aids in this action and proceeds to slam it into the wall, though you don’t care. Storming into the house, you turn and slam the door behind you, reflecting just what you thought about absolutely everything, and screw them for not understanding anyway! You kick off your shoes, barely registering the thump as they smash into the wall. The only regret you had was not being able to kick them at his head.

At this point you realize that none of your roommates are home. It was probably better that way. Nobody would be around to ask you questions. You stomp into the living room and fling yourself onto the couch, grabbing the remote so you could drown your thoughts in the TV. Humming, jumbled words block out everything else and turn your thoughts into one loud buzz. Except for the ones you don’t want to hear, of course.

He used you… he never cared about you…

You snarl, switch off the TV and jump to your feet before stalking into the kitchen. You throw open the cabinets, rummaging through boxes and cans before you grab a hold of a can of diced pineapples. You slam them on the counter top, and after having problems with the can opener, manage to open it. Unceremoniously, you grab a dish from the sink, dirty most likely, and dump the contents of the can into the bowl. The fruit makes a slushy noise before settling into place. You grab a fork from the same place and plop down at the table, shoveling a forkful of the fruit into your mouth. Immediately, you grimace. The pineapples taste sour and foreign in your mouth. You force yourself to swallow it and throw away the rest. It figures that even the fruit is against you. Sour and deceiving your expectations in the end, just like he was.

You throw open the freezer, the frigid air blasting you in the face. You scoff, and almost laugh outright. That’s what it felt like when you saw him just an hour earlier. It felt as it Reality shoved its fist down your throat. You come across a box of ice cream. Cookie Dough. It’s his favorite flavor, a trait that the two of you share.

Without hesitation you quickly throw it across the room. Oh well; you’ve always liked chocolate better anyway. There’s a crashing sound as it lands in the sink. Most likely, you broke several dishes.

“Like I could give a shit less!” you shriek to no one in particular.

You finally storm into your room and nearly rip the curtains off closing them. The room darkens nicely, giving you a sense of security, as if you’re shielded from the outside world. You throw yourself on your bed and shove your face into your pillow, wanting to suffocate. Instead, you inhale his scent, which lingers from when he spent the night the other day. It makes you want to throw up.

“Fuck you!” you scream as you throw the offending pillow at the wall. It slides to the floor looking pathetic as it sits in its poofy lump, seemingly staring at you pitifully. You don’t need its sympathy. You don’t need anyone’s sympathy.

“Shut the fuck up!” you continue before throwing yourself back down.

You burrow underneath your covers, feeling cold even after that heated outburst. Why did he go and do that to you? What did you ever do to him, anyway? He knew you loved him, but he took that and shoved it right back in your face. You hate him. Or, that’s what you wish you could say, but at this point in time, it would only be a big lie.

Almost instinctively, you glance toward the window. It’s open, so you can smell the air as it wafts into your room. It’s crisp and clean; most likely, it’s going to rain. You pull yourself out of bed and trudge over to your window, where you slowly, almost cautiously, pull open the curtain.

Unfortunately, you have a perfect view of the street, where the two of your drew a big heart with your initials in chalk for all to see. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you’re all ready to draw the curtains shut again, but then you hesitate.

And then it starts to rain.

Not immediately, but subtly. Drops of water, one by one, fall and hit the ground, growing in numbers. Soon, it’s a downpour. And the only thing you can do is stare at the chalk drawing as it begins to fade. White-colored water flows down the street to the nearby drain where it falls into the sewer, never to be seen or heard from again. Washing away painful memories, almost.

A small smile graces your features, and you turn and leave your room. Without even stopping to put your shoes on, you throw the door open. All is silent, except for the rainfall. You step out, walking on to the sidewalk, and then into the street. The water is freezing, but you don’t really care and you spread your arms and tilt your head towards the sky, closing your eyes. The feeling is exhilaration.

All is silent on your street, except for the rainfall and your laughter as you spin and dance in the rain.

————————

I was bored. It sucks, I know, but the idea didn’t leave me alone, so I figured I’d share it with the rest of you. I’m going to say that it was ridiculously awkward writing in present tense, 2nd person POV… but oh well.