Fuckin' Shoes

“The shoes were staring at me again.”

I stared back. Why I had to waste my time and call that stupid phone number within the 10 minute time slot was beyond me, but I had done it anyway. I don’t even like infomercial crap, what had intrigued me so much about these shoes? I always laughed when they said “But wait! There’s more!” or “Call in the next ten minutes, and we’ll give you…” but I hadn’t this time. I had actually picked up the phone, like the idiots these things cater to, and dialed the number as fast as I could. I had wanted these Nepalese shaman shushu shoes. What the hell kind of a shoe is a shushu shoe, anyway? They didn’t warn me that the fucking things were going to stare at me. I don’t even know HOW they stared at me, they don’t have eyes. At least, not eyes that I can see. I still feel like they’re watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake or show them some sort of weakness. I couldn’t let that happen. They weren’t going to do anything to me. I remembered something my old dodge ball coach told me once, ‘The best defense is a good offense.’”

            “Sir, is THAT why you set fire to your house? Your new shoes were watching you?” Stupid 911 operator, he thought to himself, they never seem to really grasp the severity of the situation. Who would believe me, though? He sighed, and kept talking on the phone, looking at the wreckage that was his house. At least those shoes were gone. He had seen them run out of the two-story inferno in tatters, but they had been running just the same.

            “Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a jackass. I was trying to save my soul! Things that come from Nepal don’t really belong to any other part of the world. Their mere presence creates some form of discontinuity with the rest of reality, don’t you get that?  The shoes were going to kill me and devour my soul! It might have been one of the side-effects mentioned on the infomercial, I can’t remember. All I know is, I can’t return ‘em, and they were no good to have in the house. Since they are shoes, they cannot be reasoned with-“

“So you decided you should abandon your reasoning, too, huh? How did that work for ya? Now you’re homeless and talking to a 911 operator.” The 911 operator interrupted, very rudely. Woah, sarcasm. I did not see that coming from someone with that job, he thought with a smirk.

“Yeah, sarcasm does a lot to get the fire department here, doesn’t it? Look at all the good you’re doing, judging me for staring at shoes and shit, while not calling the fire department because my house is a bonfire now, and may turn the rest of the neighborhood into one as well. If you’re not gonna help, I’m out of here.”

“Fine, fine! You’re right. The fire department is on their way.”

“Good.” Good, he repeated in his mind as he ended the call and walked over to a pay phone. He needed to call his sister for a ride, since his car was in the mound of flame that used to be the garage.