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Cinderella’s Shoes I stood in front of the mirror, analysing my outfit. The buzz of cheap, pre-drink wine dulled the feelings of self-conscious doubt, to the point that I actually felt good about my reflection. Like Cinderella waiting for the ball, I had waited such a long time for a night out with the girls,Continue reading “Lucy May Orange – Cinderella’s Shoes”
I’d like to submit a story for the June challenge about shoes. So far all stories have been submitted in English, but we were encouraged to use other languages too. So this one is in German. Supposedly, the number of untold stories members who can read it is small. However, with a click on the GoogleContinue reading “Manfred Steinig – Meine Geschichte”
“Look, stop messing about and being such a drama queen and try on the bloody dress”. This instruction came from Jackie, my Maid of Honour. What a totally stupid title, I thought, especially for her. Any honour she had was long gone, consigned as it was behind the bike sheds in exchange for a fag… Continue reading “Jean Faugier – Wedding Shoes”
A Distant Goodnight The stage was empty, the curtains closed and the props neatly stacked. All but the dressing room and the back stairs were in darkness and shadows. Most of the actors and stage hands had left soon after taking off costumes and tidying sets. Betty, just back from a week’s holiday and justContinue reading “Ian Hicken – Ghosts and Ghouls”
I’ve heard about women who hide new shoes from their husbands. A friend of mine makes it an ingenious habit and calls this behaviour her one little flaw. She shows off expensive designer products, bought by the uncontrollable desire of a whim. Pretty, impractical fashion choices, often regretted as soon as unwrapped back home andContinue reading “Britta Benson – Mum’s Shoes – A Celebration”
Joel first noticed it Monday on his way home from school. He’d been kicking lumps of concrete along the weed choked path behind the shops, and muttering dark retributions under his breath. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I was chucking it into the bin. How could I know Miss Evans would walk in at that moment.’Continue reading “Jacqueline Vincent – The Mogard”
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