The prompt was this: Write a letter to an object that has caused you harm.
You were so lovely that wintry afternoon, calling my name as I strolled through Foley's. There you sat, perched on plexiglass, clunky brown wooden heels, made in Brazil. Buy me!! you screamed. Take me home!!! I'm yours! What fun we shall have together!
You seemed a little snug, but O, you were so irrisistible. I loved you fiercely, took you into my home, my sanctuary, my safe place - introduced you to all the jackets and dresses in my closet. We were made for each other - family!!
We went to the courthouse the next morning - you and me - pounded the concrete together and all the marble floors. The romance wore thin before the day was over. That night I hobbled home, barely able to stand. It was then that I first noticed it - the knob on my foot. I think you put it there. You betrayed me. You were the first of a dozen or more suitors who seduced me, then ruined my feet. I can't wear high heels anymore. I've had surgery. I'm stuck with Triple E feet and specialized, expensive shoe stores.
Maybe it would have happened anyway. Maybe it's all a part of this aging process, losing parts of myself.
But I'm the winner. I can go barefoot. I can run and dance and play, things i never could have done when the two of us were together.
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