*Halloween Dream*
I have many dreams involving shoes. Here’s one from last night:
3 young men are playing a bleak game of soccer in a small enclosed courtyard. The courtyard is very gray, very concrete and utterly dismal. Like any proper communist structure. The sky is overcast, creating a leaden pall. The boys are all wearing identical outfits: ashen button-up shirts and matching pants with almost imperceptible pinstripes, something Chairman Mao might have worn. They’re listlessly kicking a ball back and forth, occasionally muttering things under their breaths. One mutters something about eating potatoes, another something about which mattress he gets to sleep on that night. They keep their heads down, focusing on the lifeless thud of the stupid ball. It’s a grim scene. But I feel fantastic!! I’m walking down the sidewalk holding a parasol over my head in anticipation of rain. It’s a fancy parasol with little shimmering diamonds dangling all around the bottom. I’m wearing a stunning dress that seems to be made out of human hair–the glossiest blackest human hair ever. It blends in seamlessly with my own head of hair. I’m wearing no stockings but girly white socks with lace fringe, and the highest heels imaginable. I’m amazed and impressed with my own ability to walk in them! The heels are spiked slivers of steel, polished to an almost mirror-like shine, with gold counters and top lifts. The rest of the shoe is an unreal red-black patent leather. I’m singing an old folk song, “Once I had a sweetheart and now I have none… he’s gone and leave me in sorrow to moan…” The boys in the courtyard perk up as they hear me coming closer to them. One of them hops onto the wall that divides the courtyard from the sidewalk, and straddles it like a horse. His lustful gaze needs no explanation, he ain’t thinking about potatoes anymore that’s for sure, heh heeehhh uhhhh. I’m simultaneously struck with desire and repulsion, a dangerous hormonal concoction. I sense that this boy is going to do one of two things: he will either ravage me with pleasure or rape me then feed me to the others. I take no chances. Faster than he can manage a wolf whistle, my shoe is off and firmly in hand. I fling it like a boomerang and watch it slice through the space between us. The sharp heel lands with a sickening “thwuck” dead straight into his right eyeball. It dangles there, relentless rivulets of blood gushing from the cavity. He furrows his brow and looks dazed. He stares at me with his remaining eyeball and whimpers, “But I loved you,” before keeling over and disappearing behind the wall forever…
–Sukia (Oct 31, 2008)
