Sandi opened her bedroom door with grief. She had taken a while to get to her bedroom door, having taken fifteen minutes to drag herself up the small staircase. She tumbled through the door and into the enormous space. Days like this reminded her how big her house was, and how she still felt alone. Of course, when she was at school with the fashion club she felt different, but on days when she has a runny nose, it would come to this. The floor became wider and objects around the room felt like they were miles apart from each other.

Sandi’s long legs hopped around the carpet, though still struggled in the journey around her room. Something had got stuck in her shoe; dragging her down onto the busy carpet below. She face had barely avoided a cactus plant. She was face to face with it. At last. The shoes.

The young girl kicked her legs up and backed herself into the middle of the room, her white painted nails hiding her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The girls body became still, as if she felt the sneakers were watching her. Judging her. Sandi hope they weren’t. She hoped they weren’t smiling at her either, as if they didn’t catch on to what was about to happen. The girl looked out of her fingers at the shoes facing her. Slowly her fingers detached from her face and slowly made their way to the fuzz of the pink carpet. After a while, Sandi had the courage to push herself up, her Rolex and cute silver jewellery rattling on her wrists as she balanced her bare feet in the abyss of the room.

She made a step. Uh Good. She made a few more and felt her bell bottoms wrapping around the soles of her feet. The folds and creases of her clothing felt like they were trying to freeze her body like a cocoon trying to trap a butterfly. The girl said the phrase again, but this time quietly and to herself.

“I’m sorry.”

She was now face to face with the sneakers.

“What would Tiffany, or Stacy, or.. Quinn, say about you guys. I’m.. sorry, okay? The season’s gone, okay?”

Sandi let out a scream as she grabbed on to the laces and swung the pair out of her tall open window.

I look forward to seeing you every morning I love your colours I see throughout the day You always comfort me whenever I’m cold You have a splendid fetish for my feet

You are my socks, and I am yours

The thin man took long steps in the sweltering heat, the sand’s harsh texture pushing against the soles of his feet where the grains flooded his hot, brown sandals. His light blue eyes shone under his thick, straw hat, the glow reflecting onto his dark skin in the small bubble he used to hide from the bitter winds. He could only see different kinds of feet bouncing or dragging on the small mounds of orange sand, maybe the occasional torso of an infant who’s arm was being tightly held to by the mother, cloth wrapped around her shoulder draped.

The man liked looking around his environments. He raised his head slightly, before shielding his eyes with his wet fingers and pulling his hat back down. At last he saw a familiar pair of rotten feet, in sandals covered with jewels, but still way too small. Looking up, he saw sandy red pantaloons grabbing onto the sweat of legs; a dark beige shirt tucked into them that, in a different place, could’ve been white. The old man met eyes with the thin man, his stubby fingers touching on his large, dark moustache. Without the blue eyed man taking the straw hat off, he couldn’t do business. After doing so, the thin man angrily thrust his finger into the man’s tinted shirt.

“You have beans?”

The old man looked at him peculiarly, before turning and directing him to his small stall. The men immediately saw two children stuffing as many items as possible into cloths. They each wore goggles that looked expensive, though kept their focus to the baskets on the ground, picking up handfuls of red beans. The old man gestured at them, as the two children looked up in fright.

“Let’s go, Smally!”

A gust of sand blew into the face of the two men, making it hard to see what was going on. By the time the stall became clearer, the old man informed that the two children struggled away, disappearing over the sand dunes.

“In other words, ‘have no beans.”

In my life, there are two numbers to call, One’s dancing in the party, the other’s hanging on the wall, The day depends on which, though you feel you’ll always fall, Though there’s always a way, you can rule all.

One route is the right route, the other gives you grief, Stop taking advice, from the ones that knock your teeth, The ones on the path, that you want to best leave, Marrying Joy, is the way to succeed.

You’re not going to make it out, revolving life indoors, Tears will make you think, that the world isn’t yours, Use Joy, to get you out of this turbulent course, When you’re trapped in the cycle, it doesn’t give remorse.

Forgive the friends that ignore, one day they’ll come fourth, Work on yourself with Joy, this will help with feelings poor, And helpless, you might as well be happy with the source, That you cannot control, create cause don’t come from cause.

Fingers in fingers, The doctors say I made it, Married to the day.

Mother gone home now, Crying into my lunchbox, Failing to see friends.

Sixth form just in time, Blossoming character born, Old friends still with me.

Mother there but gone, Sticking to the sofa bored, Job won’t ever come.

About to be there, My life has a routine now, Like it should have had.

The wind almost pushed me back inside the house as I opened my door. The man hadn’t waited for me at all. I was in the bathroom at the time I heard him knock, and that was only five minutes ago. Looking down at the brown paper bag, I yanked it up and headed back inside, kicking the door behind me. I walked out of the hall into the front room, loosely carrying the bag to my small broken coffee table. The lack of a thudding sound surprised me, as if it had only been recently that I decided to cut my diet and not buy so much.

I played with the bag, pushing it around, procrastinating but not ruminating. Ruminating was another word for worrying. Sally said she’d be here at four, so I had a full half hour until it was dinner. After a bit, I put on my spectacles and surveyed the shopping order I had made the previous morning. The post-it was crumpled from when I spilled coffee, making the biro looked kinda surreal. I almost jumped looking back at the paper bag; small details were exaggerated and were pulling my attention. Dust and hairs, probably floating around my couch where my dog had been sleeping. Where had that mutt vanished too? Even strange, unknown marks resided on the bag. Small red flicks on the top of the bag. Odd.

Opening up the bag, I began to lay out the ingredients my earlier self put on the list. Carrots, check, broccoli, check, meat-free sausages. I rummaged around in the bag. Missing, I thought, looking toward the door. Damn. Bangers and mash was Sally’s favourite. I stared at the potatoes I pulled out, unamused. Check, I guess. Three quarters of my shopping received. It was quite upsetting to be honest. I wanted to make a good impression this week; after all, she promised me the until the end of the month.

Bark. I heard my dog outside the window, even if it did seem a long distance away. The wind blew through the small window into my room, giving me shivers down my back. Should fix that damn window sometime soon. Or never. I chuckled to myself, looking at the brown bag and picked it back up to put it in the bin. Something wrong. It wasn’t empty. I slowly made my way to the small broken coffee table and placed the bag back down, before placing myself back in my seat. I smiled. It could be the sausages, and if so I could have just been day dreaming or something when checking everything off, though I swear I had taken everything out. I put my hand in. Something didn’t feel right. It felt odd, like it was a piece of raw chicken that hadn’t been wrapped in anything. Wet and sweaty and gross. I took my hand out, feeling rather sick. I hadn’t eaten that roadkill ever since Sally came into my life half a year ago, and felt I had almost been blessed with the disgust of my old food habit I had as a young boy. A warning not to eat anything like that, as it’s simply too disgusting. I pulled on a leg, and fished it out the. No. Something was wrong. What was that?

AAAAAAAAA.

I don’t know whether I should call the police a mangled hand and it’s making me feel really bad and it has my dog’s collar in it’s grasp.