The Shoe

It was only a stupid shoe, under a stupid coffee table, opposite a stupid shoe rack. The old, brown-coloured, worn-out shoe was just there, staring at her. It was stupid, wasn't it? A shoe couldn't stare, that's for sure. But why did she feel that the particular shoe was looking at her, laughing and jeering at her weakness, or her inability to do such an easy thing. Why? Why was it so damn frustrating?

It was a simple task to do, yes, a really simple task for a thirty year old to complete in a jiffy. "Just pick up the shoe under the coffee table and arrange them nicely in the shoe rack," Mom said gently. Mom knew that her daughter, bless her, had a weak heart but was stubborn enough not to use that as a reason for not doing anything. "A weak heart does not mean that I need to be feeble, too!" An ordinary, yet powerful sentence that had became her mantra lately. Especially when she realized that she was indeed getting weaker day by day and the sharp pain in her chest was way more frequent than before.

To be honest, she did managed to gather all the shoes though. Mom's comfy Sholl sandals, her sister's stylish Jimmy Choo's platforms with studded killer heels, her brother's smelly Nike gym sneakers and Dad's brown Oxfords, only the left shoe though, because somehow the right one just wouldn't budge. She tried to use the killer heels, hoping that those heels would also work wonderfully as emergency hooks but to no avail. She bent down again, as low as she could and still the shoe was out of reach. Her fingers brushed lightly at the tip but grabbing it was still far beyond possible.

When the sharp pain slowly pierced through her heart like a small needle prick, her eyes started to water. Was it because of the pain? Or was it more towards her personal frustration of her inability to do something so simple? At thirty, she was supposed to be at the prime of her existence, the highest point of her young life, the epitome of youth and vitality but her current state was worse than her 78-year-old grandmother, who would have been able to bend down and pick up the shoe before she could say 'please'.

Mom was shocked to see her crying silently with all the shoes stacked up around her, holding a Jimmy Choo's studded platform. She gave her daughter a warm hug, kissing the top of her head, saying in her most kind, motherly voice that it was alright if she felt tired and it was okay if she felt that this task was too difficult. Then, quick as lightning, Mom hooked that particular shoe from under the table with her left foot and at the same time arranged all the shoes impeccably in the shoe rack swiftly, in a blink of an eye... 

"There, all done now. It's quite easy to do, right darling?" she said happily yet carefully, knowing how sensitive her daughter was to simple, nitty gritty things like this but it didn't matter though since her precious little angel was already clutching her chest, gasping for air, tears streaming down her cheeks and her dead, lifeless eyes looking at her lovely mom with such despair,losing the last tiny shred of hope she had left... 

One of the stories I wrote when I was warded somewhere in August, I think... and it was written out of despair with a tinge feeling of helplessness... hmmm... ..