He smiled proudly as he held up his shoes. These shoes had his last few weeks engraved on them. Although the color was faded now you could tell that it was once a brillant bright orange. The boisterous sneaker color was a flagrant contrast to his personality yet it matched his commitment to run 100 miles in a month. The tread was barely visible. The dirt, grass and various traces of nature were permanetly tattoed on the shoes. Weather conditions were not a deterrent. Many days of running in treacherous rain, freezing temperatures were evident in the tattered fabric on the top of the sneakers. These shoes are worn, calloused, strong and most importantly beautiful.

Velvet unicorns danced on leather rainbows. The stitched stars decorate the cloth sky. Sticker cats and dogs, half-ripped trot across the shoe. The soles are pink, barbie signs are imprinted. Leather bows jump on the rainbows, stickers, and soles. Worn out from years of use, the shoe sits alone.

Mary Jane Shiney Black Scuff-less Spotless Small Flat

They click whe she walks, almost like a tap shoe. They’ve seen many puddles.

—

Author’s Note: I hate this. I’m tired.

Black converse White laces Beads strung on little doodles cover the sole Fishnets rise above them Dirt scuffs And stains Well worn Well loved Smell kinda bad Size 8 womens Wide 5 bucks hidden in the toe Hole in the inside Name written on the tag Cool shoes Lost in found In the hospital morgue

I like to people watch. Ever since retirement it's become a pastime. I sit on the bench at the train station, watching everyone board in the morning.

A woman walks by, clacking as she goes. Black heels, a gold detail. She was walking quite fast in them too. The shoes looked well-polished, but I could tell that they had had their fair share of use. She must try to keep them nice. They seemed uncomfortable, because while waiting for the train she kept adjusting and switching the pressure from one foot to the other. The gold detail looked mock designer, and it was a little faded, but she stood tall in them. Although they were beat down and didn't seem to come from anywhere special, the shoes were taken care of and worn with a sort of pride that made you look at her with respect.

A teenage boy stood near her, his Converse looking like the sole might fall off any minute now. There were drawings all over them, little cartoon characters on the toe and a girl's name were crossed out on the rim of the shoe. His laces weren't tied, and I wondered if he noticed and left it like that on purpose, or if he just didn't care or have enough time to tie them. They were covered in mud and dirt, with the back of the right shoe duct taped haphazardly together. The rest of his clothing was neat and clean, not bad quality either. You could tell that those shoes were something he could replace but chose not to. Teenage angst maybe. Kids now always had so much angst. He was probably heading to school and looked around as if he was waiting for someone.

A few other people walked by, but they weren't wearing anything interesting. Then, the train came and everyone began boarding. I was just getting up to leave when I spotted someone running. She was at the back of the crowd and seemed desperate to get on the train. She had a pair of light pink ballet flats on, with little bows on the toe. Clean and perfect, the bow not yet falling off. She was about the same age as the boy, and tapped her foot anxiously, revealing a designer symbol on the bottom of the shoe. The boy glanced over and then looked at her for a moment, something strange in his gaze. She didn't appear to notice him; her eyes were locked onto a seat in the train. The woman in the heels was already sitting down, watching the interaction with a reminiscent look on her face. Then looking down at her hands.

The train took off, all three of the people I had been observing on board. I wondered how their stories would go, before getting my cane and standing up, ready to walk home myself. I wondered if anyone had ever observed me and wondered about my story. I almost laughed out loud at the thought. My own shoes made no sound on the pavement, a pair of loafers and compression socks, my cane clacked unevenly with each step though.

Nobody ever paid any mind to the little old lady always sitting on the bench at the train station, but she always paid attention to them. She watched some of them, as their stories continued and intertwined.

She’s got high tops. Bright red. So they don’t match everything she wears, and they’re not especially bright anymore. They’re a bit dirty from running on the wrong side of town. The left toe has a heart drawn on it in sharpie from where she was bored in English class last semester. Mr. Frugelli growled out questions about Shakespeare like he wasn’t the most over rated author on their reading list. When she rolled her eyes to answer she accidentally made the right side of the heart a bit too big. The right shoe, right in back across her heel was the autograph of one Sammy McCavoy, the most amazing guitarist to ever play in a rock and roll band ever. She’d been lucky enough to see him in a diner once and faced with a napkin or her shoe.. well the shoe seemed like the better option. Only these are her favorite shoes, the ones she wears everyday, the ones she runs from her problems in, the ones she climbs the tree in front of Oliver’s house in late at night, the ones that fit her feet absolutely perfectly… and the last present her dad gave her before he died. They’re her favorite shoes. And god I wanna throw them out of this fuxking truck.

Those shoes embodied that mysterious pristineness of a clear alpine lake at night. Black leather, not a crease in sight and so meticulously taken care of, you could smell the fresh shoe polish. You could see your reflection on them, but if you did, that would be the last thing you saw. The only detail conspicuously revealing their reality was a tiny dark splash of dried crimson.

Her feet fall silently on the floor as she skips and struts along the upper street. The thick sole of her shoe reflects how her soul is deep and expanded, not shallow. She’s sweet and rounded, you can tell that her smile would be bright like the shine of her patent leather shoes. The red reflective material brings out the rosiness of her cheeks and the redness of her cherry lips. You can tell by the way she walks in those shoes that she has power, she has confidence. Sometimes she shuffles and digs her heels in the floor. That’s when you can tell that she holds back. Sometimes she buckles under the pressure and undoes the fastenings on the sides of her shoes. Sometimes she takes off her shoes, but even then you still see who she is. Mary Jane.

Crime Scene Investigation Visual Report Forensic Technician Nina Liberty

Exterior, 15 Butterfly Lane, Haworthia Flats, single family dome

Eagle Model T hover car, Artic White, VIN 9037 460004, door ajar Owned by Ryan Persons, Android, model Felton Surrogate 6700 series Exterior and interior scanned for DNA traces Pending touch analysis Preliminary DNA findings: 73% human, female Lena Persons (daughter of missing person Ryan Persons, Android) 11% human, male Josh Devlin (boyfriend of missing person Ryan Persons, Android) 16% unidentified human, feline, and plant matter

Vehicle contains : four plexicubes of female adult clothing and footwear, child clothing and footwear, jewelry, toiletries, household items, toys Two pothos, Emerald City and Blueberry Surprise One purse containing IDentibracelet, snack pops, chocolate almostmilk

Local video drones disabled, data wiped clean

Ground disturbed, possible struggle multiple unknown parties

2.3 meters from potential crime scene located one slipper, pink yarn crocheted with hearts size six Very fluffy, cushioned

Technician Liberty Note Slippers are worn for comfort. We, Androids, don’t typically wear comfort items. This slipper is not stylish. It is in fact a crudely fashioned handmade item. I surmise this slipper was a pair created by a child unskilled. High probability creator is Lena Persons. Surmise this is a sentimental item created by a child for a mother. Mother’s Day gift wrapped in colorful paper lovingly tied with string given with a card handmade and flowers maybe. Surrogates retain the children they bear very rarely. The Civil War allowed this rare of rarity to occur.

Hypotheses: Ryan Persons, missing child abandonment, negative Ryan Persons, missing presumed dead, tbd

Christina’s pair of black high top Converse had been through three summers of walks and bike rides across town. Their most common destination: a house with high ceilings that always smelled like lemon Clorox, courtesy of the live-in maid Angelica.

Christina went to that house almost every day to pass time with her best friend Maisie. Last summer, the two of them painted their best attempt at the Phantom’s mask from Phantom at the Opera on Christina’s high tops. They first discovered the musical through a clip of a live performance of All I Ask of You online. Both girls daydreamed of a future when they yearned for something as desperately as the Raoul yearned for Christine.

“Say you need me with you, here beside you, anywhere you go, let me go too, Christine that’s all I ask of you”

They listened to the musical’s soundtrack on repeat all summer and watched any version of the production they could get their hands on (Both of them thought the movie adaption lacked focus). Maisie started referring to Christina as Christine but would not let her mother or little sister do the same.

In late August, about a week before the start of 7th grade, the high tops found themselves on the shoe rack in Maisie’s foyer, where they had been placed countless times before. But Maisie’s eyes were blood shot and skin stripped of its usual glowing olive hue. Her parents stood with her in the kitchen, which Christina found strange since it was 1pm and they both worked downtown until at least 5:30pm.

“What’s wrong?” Christina asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

Maisie turned to her mom. “Honey,” Maisie’s mother began, “do you remember a few months ago when Maisie had to miss y’all’s end of the year awards ceremony for a doctor’s appointment?”

Christina vaguely recalled. Maisie never mentioned it again so she assumed it was just a check up. “Does Maisie have cancer?!” she shrieked.

“Thankfully no,” her mother continued, “but she started some medicine that as of a few weeks ago the state has banned.”

“So, she can’t get her medicine anymore?”

“Well, she can’t get her medicine here. But the good news is there are plenty of other states that still allow teens to take it.”

“Oh, I see.”

Maisie and her family were gone within a month. Christina started the school year wearing her high tops most days, but each time someone asked about the Phantom mask, she wanted to punch a wall, or God, or whoever “the state” was. Classmates spoke to her enough that she wasn’t considered an outcast. But Christina didn’t trust anyone else enough with the vulnerable and sacred ritual of experiencing new things together and letting them change you.

How stupid, she thought, that only a season ago yearning seemed like a rebirth. Christina understood now that it was a stab in the stomach with endless pools of invisible blood pouring onto her pair of Converse.