Jan 29, 2019, 06:28AM

The Tiniest Glass Slipper

A short story about blood, death, mice, and small feet.

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WTF OMG! I went on this new diet and went down five shoe sizes! It was a crazy diet and I thought it was never gonna work. But it did! Now I have these little tiny doll feet. I have to wear doll shoes! No shit, doll shoes! Like the kind you buy for porcelain dolls that your grandma keeps on a dusty shelf in a glass-fronted display cabinet, to remind her what children look like because hers are all grown and “don't come around here no mo',” as the Tom Petty song goes.

But enough about sad old grandmas! Back to me! I lost five shoe sizes! Now when I go mincing about on my teeny-tiny feet, in my li'l plastic Barbie shoes, people whistle and holla. "DAY-um, those are some fine-assed tiny feet!"

I love being me now. I didn't used to. I didn't used to think I was enough. That's because of my ex. He kept me in the closet. Literally, I lived in his broom closet in his apartment. He didn't want his buddies to find out I lived there, so he told me to keep it down real quiet when they came over to watch the Big Game. When they watched the Big Game, I would sit on a crate covered with cobwebs in my dark broom-closet home, like a regular Cinderella, and listen to the game. I had a pet mouse I named Ralphie. It was like in olden days of yore when people would listen to the Big Game on the radio. I would close my eyes and picture the field, verdant and freshly shorn, christened with the players' blood and sweat, and I tell you, the picture in my head was better than anything those jerks were watching on their LSD screens.

But one time I got so excited when the ol' home team made a touchdown that I cheered. I cheered inside my broom-closet home, and my now-ex and his buddies all heard me. One of them said, "What the dickens was that?" And another one said, "Dude. You just said, 'What the dickens...'" And another one mocked the first guy, too, and said in a high-pitched falsetto, "Heavens to Betsy!" And they all started hassling that first guy so hard they forgot about me, the "ghost in the closet."

Then my ex forgot about me, too. He moved out and forgot to tell me. So one day I arrived to find another family moving in. They were hanging a life-size poster of Yao Ming on the wall. I started to at least go to the broom closet to get my belongings, my personal effects and such, or at least to get Ralphie, but I was worried they might be packing heat so I left.

But now I have these tiny feet, and I just know my true love will find me. No matter how small his glass slipper, I am sure to fit inside it now. I miss Ralphie, though. Mice don’t live very long, so he is surely in a better place, just like I am. Ave atque vale!


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