The flying shoe

The flying shoe

                I was born in a showpiece factory. A very solid piece of art I would call myself, proud of my perfectly packaged self I was sent to a store.

                I was displayed in the first rack in the “New Stock” section, but without a partner. Living in a glass case was fine; people looked at me and always asked, “Is this a shoe?”, or “Is this a showpiece?” These questions started confusing me. No one had ventured further and bought me. I started getting nervous. My shiny body couldn’t attract customers. I had bet myself that I would’ve got sold on my first day itself.

                Two days had passed. I started noticing things. All the people in the store were wearing shoes were wearing them in pairs, each on one leg. I knew I was missing somebody, a partner through life, a left shoe.

                I was very small, a three numbered sized shoe. A kid’s shoe perhaps, but no kids ever looked at me. It was always over aged people. Plus what would they do with one shoe? But was I place too high on this rack for small kids to see me?

I was just a showpiece; no one would ever buy me. A silly small hat on my head that looked like a purposeful dent. The small cap didn’t even cover my body. I knew it was meant for something, but what?

Finally after resting in various places in various showcases including my current owner’s almirah, who themselves did not know where to put me; I was removed on their wedding anniversary. Was I that odd a gift? My owner’s would never show me off or maybe to be used once in a life time.

Anyways happy to be finally brought out of the gloom I eagerly waited for him to insert his leg into me. But instead he flicked his cigar into me. I was choked more from the feeling than the ash. Was I so ugly people threw trash at me. He smiled at me and did it again.

It struck me like lightning; I was an ashtray, made of shiny brass. I was flying through the air as the people passed me around the room. Cigarette butts were being stabbed into me, but I had found myself.

My hat was a cigarette holder.