an original piece by Dejana Talis -not to be used without permission- This was a freewrite exercise, written on the spur of the moment without planning or focused thought. Shoes. They were such interesting things. In one glance a person could find a seemingly endless treasure trove of information about someone simply by looking at their shoes. Sam's eyes were lowered as he sat on the bench. Not only did this sort of people-watching give the illusion that he was keeping his eyes to himself, it allowed him to observe one of the most telling aspects of the people who walked by. Red shoes, with tall thin heels. The woman wearing them was slightly unsteady compared to the ladies Sam had seen before. They were new, alien to her. Clearly these were not the sort of shoes she usually wore. A flutter of a glance upward revealed a middle-aged adult. At that age, she was trying to impress someone. Perhaps even herself. Sam shook his head despite himself. If the target boss or lover or friend or family member had any sort of eye for what was natural, the ruse would clearly fail. It was always a mistake to pretend to be something one was not. Tennis shoes, sneakers with long neon orange laces, discolored and worn from use. Some casual bohemian, alone, most likely with a backpack over one shoulder filled with sketchbooks and half-written novelettes. The gait was casual, without the slightest hesitation or drag. A young person, then, still with hope that had yet to be crushed. Sam knew it would only be a matter of time until these steps plodded as heavily as the dozens of other failed dreamers he had seen pass by. Black dress shoes, shined to the nines so that the sun flashed off them like a mirror. Long brisk strides, sharp and clean, determined and confident. Obviously a businessman who was far too sure of himself, throwing around money as if it were sand and in endless supply. Some said that clothes made the man, and here was someone who clearly took that to heart. Along with that value came dependency. A man like this needed those shoes. He could never be at home in the previous walker's worn sneakers. His worth was measured solely in the balance of his bank account, and if he could not express that thruogh his clothing, he was nothing. Those shoes both carried him to the boardroom and proved his right to be there. Without them, he was no better than Sam. They were tall ones and short ones, casual and formal, expensive and secondhand. Every morning the walkers chose shoes for the day, and with them, a personality, an image, a feeling and an atmosphere all their own. The shoes were the basis, the cornerstone of all they would portray of themselves for the day, and they were given the choice of who to become every morning as they selected their pairs of shoes. Sam pulled himself off the bench and swung himself back into his wheelchair. With his hands he arranged the two stubs that had once been legs into a comfortable position before setting off down the paved path. Those he passed by gave him indulgent smiles, often laced with pity. Sam avoided meeting their eyes as much as possible. He always felt incomplete, not because he had no legs to walk on, but because he had only his face to respond with. Those people would probably never realize how lucky they were, to be able to wear something as expressive as shoes. This piece of original fiction is the sole property of Dejana Talis.