3/15/2019 - Week 2 Essays

A reminder of last week's prompt...

"You walk out your front door in the morning and find one shoe on the doorstep. The next day you find another completely different shoe. This goes on for a week until finally on the eighth day you find something else entirely."  Anonymous

Taking A Stand

By Murph

“For seven days in a row a small shoe had appeared on the woman’s porch; would there be an eighth?

She opened her front door and was completely surprised; the porch was empty, no shoe. As she contemplated the scene she heard, or rather sensed, a presence communicating to her,

“Look over her to the left.”, it communed.

What she saw on her left was an octopus with one shoe on. It was staring at her and asking whether she kept the seven shoes she’d found.

“How can I be communicating with an octopus?”, she thought while at the same time thinking, “Yes, I have the shoes.”

“We’re using telepathy”, the creature responded, “and I need the shoes back.”

“Why were they on my porch, and why would you wear shoes?”, she questioned.

“I was trying to get your attention, you must be a deep sleeper. I threw the shoes at your door in the hope of waking you.”

“Why did you want my attention?”, she asked.

“I have a message to deliver along with the instructions for you.”, said the octopus while holding her gaze.

“What kind of message and why me?”, she thought.

“The message is simple. Stop trashing the ocean and clean up the mess that’s been made.”, it  said.

“How can I clean up the ocean, I’m only one person?”

“The instructions are to start a petition, contact elected officials, start a go fund me page and anything else that you think would help.”, it offered. “You are not the only person I’ve communed with on this issue, many people are involved. The problem is that it's going too slow. I’m not sure that I can keep things in check much longer.”

“What does that mean?”, she asked.

“If you pay attention to the news, you’ll know that more shark attacks are happening and whales are upending small boats. We octopuses are trying to spread the message to the human population while at the same time keeping our more reckless brethren under some sort of control.”

She gave him a questioning look and thought, “Our brethren?’”

It replied, “The Australian octopuses, small as they are, can kill a human with one bite. And the venomous creatures are willing to do it!  The ocean citizens are discussing increasing the red tides and expanding the Bermuda Triangle to bring more attention to the utter disregard of our habitat.” it replied.

“I can’t help wondering why an octopus would be chosen to bring this message. Also, you didn’t answer my question of why you wear shoes.”, she insisted.

“I wear shoes because the asphalt is painful to my tentacles. The reason octopuses are charged with bringing the message is because of our intelligence; we have the biggest brain to body mass ratio of all invertebrates. We can also maintain eye contact, which impresses humans. And we have big hearts, three of them in fact.”, it informed.

“I don’t understand why you chose me to inform others of this tragedy. I’ve never protested anything in my life.”, she communed.

“Then it’s time, for the good of all, that you act. Not being against a crime is to condone it”, it replied. “Bottom line is rather than informing people, you will awaken an energy that is now dormant. They know about ocean pollution, however, what is needed, is an unrelenting tide of outrage to correct it. Now please, get my shoes and do your part to remedy this intolerable assault on my home, the ocean.”

The Shoe Story

By Maggie Mae

“Dad, tell us the shoe story again, please!”

“Kids, you’ve heard the story a million times.  Do you really want to hear it again?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.  Well, one crisp and cool Saturday morning I opened the front door to grab the newspaper to read with my breakfast.  Sitting next to the rolled-up newspaper was a bright, red sandal. I looked around on the lawn and in the bushes on either side of the step and didn’t see another one.  I brought the shoe inside and was pretty sure it wasn’t your Mom’s, but I asked her anyway.  It wasn’t.  We weren’t sure what to do with the shoe, so we put it in the front closet temporarily.

Late Sunday morning we were going to your Grandparents for lunch.  Jack, you were about two, and Olivia you were six months old.  We were heading out the front door and almost tripped over another shoe.  It wasn’t the red sandal’s mate.  It was a man’s very large running shoe, white with a deep green stripe running up the side.  Again, we looked around for its mate, and there wasn’t one.  We brought this one inside and placed it next to the red sandal.

What do you suppose happened on Monday when I was leaving for work?”

“Another shoe!”

“You’re right!  Another shoe.  This time it was a ladies brown leather ankle boot.  This was becoming a real mystery and we knew the owners would be missing these shoes.  Still not knowing what to do, the ankle boot was placed next to the sandal and running shoe.  We had quite a growing collection.

For a week, every morning there was a shoe on the front step.  Tuesday it was a navy pump, Wednesday a pink furry slipper, Thursday the running shoe’s mate, Friday a man’s black loafer, and on Saturday a purple high-top sneaker.

Your Mom and I were out of our minds trying to figure out where the shoes were coming from.  We asked the neighbors if they were missing any shoes, and none were.

On Sunday morning we opened the door expecting another shoe.  Well, weren’t we surprised!  Sitting on the step was a beautiful golden retriever.  In her mouth was, not a shoe, but her cute, tiny golden retriever puppy, who had a small shoe in its mouth.  The mother put the puppy down on the step, and the puppy raced right inside our house! The Mother barked at us, turned around and left.  Now we had eight shoes and a puppy.  We placed ads on all the social media about the puppy and the shoes, but no one contacted us.  We had no choice but to toss the shoes and keep the puppy.

And, that is how Sammy came to live with us.”

Shoe Drop

By H. Sherlock

Sitting at my desk, I’m reviewing new files which were created and then dropped into my inbox earlier this morning. The day is overcast, threatening a cold rain on this mid-spring day. Scanning the “bullpen” I’m comforted by the amount of activity and professionalism of the team I oversee.

My thoughts are broken by the shrill sound of my private phone. I check the caller ID – “Hello Chief. Yes sir, I’ll be there; 3:30 at the Mayor’s office.”

I’m the chief inspector for Bath Maine, a small town 20 miles east of Brunswick on Route 1 and home to the Maine Maritime Museum. Today’s incident, the 3^rd this month, has put Bath and the Museum on the national news.  The Mayor’s “meeting” is a major press conference being carried by all the major networks and the big two cable news channels.  

My day started with a call from the security office at the museum. Two uniform officers were at the scene when I arrived. Police tape strung up at the entrance.  Frank, a retired police officer, now head of security for the museum met me just inside the door. “Follow me Inspector, I’ll take you to body.” 

Located below the museum’s main floor is the 1st basement which houses the archive room for whaling artifacts and non-public records.  In the center of the floor lay the body no doubt belonging to the head of the victim of the second crime. Eight days ago, we found the head (no body) in another non-public section of the museum. The 1^st crime was reported 7 days prior and involved the theft of a life size wax figure from the museum of one of Maine’s more famous whaling captains.

On the body was a note addressed to me. “Written” in cut-out newspaper print and taped to blood red paper affixed to the breast pocket of the wax corpse; the note read, “Inspector Holmes have you deciphered the code of the shoes left each day on your front door stoop?  Solve the code and you will solve the case.”

Each day for the previous seven days a single shoe had been left in the center of the stoop; some new, some old, some children’s and other adults. No apparent rhyme or reason to them.

Until this note I had not given too much thought to the shoes, but being the inspector that I am, I cataloged them: Day 1 – new women’s shoe size 7; Day 2 – used man’s shoe size 8; Day 3 – used child’s shoe size 1; Day 4 – old women’s shoe size 5; Day 5 – new child’s shoes size 12; Day 6 – new mans shoe size 12; and Day 7 – a new women’s shoe size 10.

Since 10:00 this morning my team has been trying to make sense of the shoes; tracking makes and style of the new shoes and where they could have been purchased, talking to second hand and thrift outlets looking for the mates of the used shoes, reviewing CCTV footage, and following all leads. It’s now 2:00pm and I still have nothing to go on.

Ms. Watson, an expert in decoding numeric puzzles, has been running the sizes against known cryptic codes – again no results.  On her whiteboard she had listed sizes, first in the order the shoes were left: 7-8-1-5-12-12-10 and then in size order, smallest to largest: c12-c1-w5-w7-w10-m8-m12.

Reviewing her work, I noticed that there were ten numbers if each number were to be listed separately. My phone rang again. Looking at the caller ID, I saw not the name but the digits; ten of them. “Sorry Chief but I have to go, no time for talk as I believe I have just solved the crime.” I hung up and dialed the ten digits written on the board. A recording played; “Congratulations Inspector you have solved the code. The reason for the crime and the person responsible follows...” 

It's More Than A Shoe

By Noelle Rose

As she stepped out her front door, she nearly tripped over a ruby-colored high heel shoe. Odd, Tamara thought. She tossed the shoe inside the door and went off  to work. She had forgotten about it during the course of the day and did not recall the foundling until she returned that evening. With a shrug of her shoulders she placed the shoe on the foyer bench.

The following morning Tamara stumbled and nearly fell over a lonely sneaker.  Now why would someone leave one sneaker in front of my door, she thought?  She tossed the carrot-colored sneaker next to the high heel from the day before.

The next day was Saturday and she was only mildly surprised when another single piece of footwear, a fuzzy slipper looking very much like a baby chick, greeted her.  She held the slipper in her hand as she looked out toward the street, then left and right. How odd. This slipper, like the dress shoe and sneaker, was placed upon the foyer bench.

Church bells tolled Sunday morning as Tamara stepped out her door and into a  lime-colored boot. Who, she thought, was using her front porch as a Payless shoe store? This boot joined the others on the bench.

Monday, which Tamara did not like at all, became more infuriating when  she stumbled over yet another piece of footwear; a suede loafer the color of sapphires. With a heavy sigh, she put the suede loafer on the bench.

Tuesday and Wednesday were no different. A single shoe was left on her doorstep each day. Tuesday it was a single Croc the color of a basketful of blueberries and Wednesday was a beautiful ballet slipper the color of a springtime crocus.

Had her visitor left her pairs of shoes she would have gladly donated them but what could she do with  single shoes?

The next day Tamara totally expected to find another shoe on her doorstep. Maybe this time it would be a combat boot or nurse’s shoe.

Upon opening the door Tamara was greeted by a small man with a red beard. He was wearing a plaid vest with an emerald colored jacket and on his head was a top hat that looked as tall as he. She stood in the doorway, slack jawed. Words escaped her.

“Well”, said her visitor, “where are they?”

Tamara stammered. “Where are….what? I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. But I know I left them here and now they are gone.” The little man was getting impatient.

“You mean the shoes? Those shoes belong to you?”

“Yes, the shoes! I need them. May I have them back please? I need to find the end of the rainbow.”

“Rainbow?” Tamara was still perplexed. “What do the shoes have to do with….” She stopped.

She stepped back into the foyer and looked again at the shoes, lined up on the bench.

“Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet”, she whispered, “the colors of the rainbow.”

Slowly, deliberately and without another word, she picked up the shoes and lined them up on the front lawn.

The little man bowed, tipped his hat and took his place behind the lineup of colorful shoes. Tamara stood on the front step, paralyzed, not knowing what to expect.

With a wink of his eye, each shoe shot out a beam of light reflective of its own color, a perfect rainbow. These lasers shot high into the air forming an arc that ended beyond the horizon. The light was blinding. Tamara shielded her eyes. When the light dissipated, the lawn was empty. The only noise she heard was the spinning sound of a gold coin dancing in her driveway.