All kinds of strap shoes hang in rows. Black, red, white, tan.
Her shoes on the bedroom closet. Shoes for every occasion. Imelda Marcos-scale collection.
He burned them all. The clothes too. The closet, the bedroom, the house. All up in flames.
It had to look real. They found the charred remains. They assumed it was them.
They never suspected it was two homeless hobos he enticed from the street.
Then they fled.
Manila. The Philippines. Far enough away to be safe?
Between the sandals he scans the market square.
Sweat. Heat. Crowded. No hitman vibes.
She smiles at him. Newly purchased moccasins in hand.
They can start again. Build another house. Fill another closet. Hide the skim money beneath her new Marcos-scale collection.
The only cloud – the looonnnng reach of the mafioso.
Stay alert. Don’t get complacent. Be ready to scram if vibes get pricked.
Enjoy the new life.
Don’t yearn for the Sunday game and a cold beer.
Pretend it was all worth it.
Buy her the shoes and smile.
Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story or poem in around 150 – 175 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.
To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.