romance vs. firearms

holocaust shoes

I wrote this for an SA writing challenge thread. My challenge was:

"1000 words. The protagonist has very bad case of Social Anxiety Disorder that he developed as a result of all the mockery he received as a child because of his extremely ridiculous name. A pair of brown shoes must be an important part of the plot. The final scene must take place under a rainbow."

I spent over three hours writing it, but uh... I'm not sure what to think. It's more than 1000 words. whoops.

Holocaust Shoes

It was just past two P.M. when he woke. Harsh sunshine stung his dreary, half open eyes as he glanced around the room. Everything was saturated in a hazy, yellowy luminescence, and his head reeled and ached with the weight of a fifteen hour sleep. Clad in only boxers, he rose from bed and shuffled miserably over to his computer desk.

His inbox was empty, just as he expected; the last e-mail had been received four days ago, and even that was just spam. Regardless, he couldn't escape the habit of checking e-mail obsessively. Just in case. With a sigh, he flicked off the monitor, ran his hands through his hair, and began rummaging through the junk on the floor in search of clothing.

"DICK!!!" screeched an arnory voice from the first floor as he descended the staircase. "It's about goddamned time you got your ass out of bed. I need you to run some errands for me."

"Richard, grandma," he said. As he walked into the kitchen, he could just barely see her ratty white hair protruding from the top of the recliner in the other room. "Wheel of Fortune" was on the television, and he could tell from slurping and sucking sounds that grandma was scarfing down some kind of liquid meal.

Richard poured himself a mound of mini toast crunchies into a green bowl. Upon opening the refrigerator door, however, he was presented with a frustrating revelation.

"We're out of milk," he shouted to the living room, his voice drowned out by a hyperactive car salesman on a commercial, which was airing at a significantly higher decibel than the game show. "WE’RE OUT OF MILK!!"

He approached her, and she stared up at him smugly. Her frail limbs were wrapped in a thick baby blue bathrobe, and her wiry hair formed a tuft that even Einstein couldn't match. "Yes, I know that, Dick. That's why you need to run some errands. All we need is some milk, eggs, and shortening."

"Why can't you do it?! You know I have classes this afternoon!"

"Stop being such a lazy bitch, Dick," she said, waving her hand disapprovingly. "They're on the goddamned computer. They're not going anywhere!"

So that was that. As much as he disliked going to the store, walking down the street, or even going outside for that matter, he couldn't argue with grandma. The afternoon was, for the most part, warm and sunny, but if he'd glanced up at the sky, he'd have noticed dark storm clouds hurling in from the east. However, Richard's head was down, eyes cast firmly on the sidewalk. He couldn't bear to look at the passing cars for fear that the occupants would notice and glance back at him. He hated that.

Richard's shoes were brown, plain, and worn out-- ripped, scuffed, and full of holes. These were the same pair he'd been wearing for at least three years, and they were the only shoes that currently graced his closet. He always liked shoes such as these: plain, simple, old-fashioned. Ever since he was young, he always preferred this style to the more conventional sneakers, and he always kept one pair, for years, until they became virtually unwearable. Holocaust shoes, the kids dubbed them.

"Hey DICK BONER, where'd you get those shoes? The HOLOCAUST?"

"Dick has a BONER for dead Jews!"

Memories poured into his mind, and he found himself boiling with resentment. The holocaust jokes were really the least of his worries as a kid. Every morning in middle school, upon entering homeroom, the entire class would pound their fists on their desks rhythmically, chanting, "BONER! BONER! BONER!" until the teachers were able to quiet them down. For the rest of the day, he would be used as target practice for thrown pencils, crumpled papers, and spitballs. The most popular game in P.E. for his peers to play was "who can make Boner cry first?". The victor would be rewarded with high fives and back pats, while Dick shivered in the corner of the gym, gobs of snot (and sometimes blood) dribbling out of his nose.

These thoughts followed him as he walked through the parking lot, through the automatic doors, the bakery, and the frozen foods aisle. He found himself wandering aimlessly, warily avoiding the eyes of anyone passing by. His hands and forehead were sweating, and his heart seemed to be beating through his ears. Finally! The eggs; and just a bit further down, a jug of 2% milk. He didn't care about comparing prices or brands. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

As he approached the check-out aisle, he couldn't help but notice through the massive front windows that it had begun to rain. Not in sprinkles, but in hard, bullet-like torrents, and the sky had turned charcoal grey. He moaned, flipping his head back in exasperation. Then he saw the cashier: a young man, with yellow hair and a freckled face, whose face bore a wide grin.

"Well, look who it is," the cashier remarked, teeth gleaming. "If it isn't Dick Boner! My God, I haven't seen you in forever!"

Richard's stomach dropped. He cleared his throat and spoke hoarsely: "Can I just. Check out my items. Please."

"Of course," the cashier replied, "hey, you remember back in the day? We used to call you BONER and you used to wear those weird ratty shoes, and your grandma was like a crazy cat lady... you were funny, man, those were good times. $5.23 total."

Richard stood rigid for several seconds. Then, uncontrollably, like a rubber band snapping, his right arm launched forwards, hand clenched to a fist, and punched the yellow-haired cashier right in the mouth. The man toppled sideways on to the cash register, before staggering forwards a bit, blood streaming out of his nose and mouth on to his green employee apron.

Dick ran.

He ran out the "IN" door, into the downpour. He ran and ran, aimlessly, and wanted to keep running forever, until his lungs burst and his legs collapsed from under him. He'd die in the gutter, in the rain, like a Jew in the Holocaust. After an indeterminate length of time, the rain stopped as suddenly as someone turning a knob in the shower, and Richard found that his will to die wasn't as strong as he had previously assessed. He stopped, gasping desperately for air, for he hadn't exerted any kind of physical effort in years. Finally, he regained a bit of energy, and when he looked to see where his legs had carried him, he saw a row of vivid colors gleaming through the leaves of the poplar trees. It was a rainbow, emanating vivaciously through the drab grey-blue sky. Richard was awed by its luminescence, for its colors seemed so intense-- almost otherworldly.

The last ten minutes, as well as the present moment, felt like a dream. He didn't know why he did what he did. He didn't know why he was feeling so peculiar-- gazing at that rainbow, breathing in the fresh air. His mind felt clear, and strangely elevated. Inexplicably, he felt like smiling; and he did. He held his head high as he began walking, looking at each passenger in each vehicle straight in the eye, and he didn't mind if they were looking at his holocaust shoes.

Dick Boner was happy.

posted by Jerry McClelland @ 4:32 PM