This is another story I wrote for a contest over at Kads’ blog. It’s called Just a Pair of Shoes. To be honest, this prompt was pretty hard for me to write. I tried another one a few times, but each fell absolutely flat and I honestly hated each story I tried. XD So I threw those into the trash and grabbed a new prompt.
This is what I came up with. 😀
Prompt
He looked down at his shoes—the old familiar neon yellow high-tops. It was a surprise to me that he still wore them.
Story
“They’re just a pair of shoes.”
That’s what everyone keeps telling me whenever I gaze down at the old familiar neon-yellow hightops. To be perfectly honest, it probably surprises everyone that I still wear them – they aren’t exactly the most fashionable color, not to mention they are worn and dirty from years of use.
That, and the fact that I should have outgrown them by now.
I’m fourteen, y’see, and I’ve had these shoes since I was nine. I’d seen them in the store, shining in their full yellow glory, and practically fallen to my knees begging my mom to get them. After much coercing and promises to use them and to do extra chores to repay her, my mom bought ‘em for me.
“Are you sure you want them this bad?” she asked at the checkout. “They’re a size too big and not really your style. They’re just a pair of shoes, honey.”
But I nodded vigorously, determined to get those shoes or die trying. Not a bad choice, if I do say so myself. I’ve worn ‘em practically every day for over five years.
My sorrow when I found that they fit perfectly at the age of ten was unmatched. I thought I wouldn’t have much time left to wear them before they got too small. I thought I’d spent two weeks on extra chores for only a year of use. I thought I’d lose my precious babies before long.
I was wrong.
For you see, these were the shoes that have fit my itsy-bitsy feet for over five years now; the shoes that led me to discover my true origins; the shoes that unmasked the secret my parents had held behind bars for so many years.
***
“You’re a fairy.”
The plate my twelve-year-old hands held crashed to the tile. I stood there, staring at it and my tiny yellow shoes, somehow wishing I could both take back my question and ask it again.
Why haven’t my feet grown?
I suppose it isn’t wholly abnormal for feet to stay the same-ish length for two years, but my brain thought I was dying. My mother found my question to be the perfect intro for her big reveal, though. They were already planning on telling me – I had just sped the process up by a hair.
“Are you serious?” I asked when I could speak again, my wide-eyed gaze fixed on my mom as I squatted to pick up the plate. Luckily enough, it was a Corelle and basically indestructible.
“As a tree.” Her face puckered. “Although those aspens can get quite mischievous sometimes.”
I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I didn’t bother closing it until my next question sprang to my lips: “You know the trees?!”
Mama nodded, taking my pate from me and dunking it beneath the frothy water in the sink. “Very well. I’m a woodland fairy, dear, sometimes called a dryad in the legends.”
I furrowed my eyebrow. “I thought those were different.”
A shrug found its way to her shoulders as she began washing the cheese and rice off my plate. “In modern literature, yes. In reality, no. ‘Dryad’ is just the proper name for a woodland fairy, not something else entirely.”
“But…” I searched for a way to word this. “But aren’t fairies like… magical? With wings and wands and fancy dresses?” My eyes bugged as I sized her up. “And aren’t they tiny?”
Mama laughed. “The zephids – wind fairies, before you ask – are small, yes. Not so much for the dryads, naiads, and others.”
“Naiads?”
“Water fairies, like your father.”
I thought for sure my eyes were gonna pop out of my noggin and start playing marbles on the floor. “Dad’s a FAIRY?!”
Another laugh bubbled out of Mama as she rinsed the suds from my plate and stuck it in the drying rack. “Yes, dear. Fairies don’t marry humans. That doesn’t end well.” A frown shadowed her face.
“How-but-where-if-are-” I sighed and yanked on my hair. “I have too many questions!”
“We have time. Dad can answer some too, when he gets home. What’s the one you want to know the most?”
I paused, thinking this out. “Okay… why don’t you have wings? And can you do magic?”
Mama gazed out the window, her hands still scrubbing the pot they held. “That’s two questions, honey. But no – I’m a dryad, and we don’t have wings.”
“Fine, then, what about the magic?”
She turned and met my eyes, hers distant and dreamy. “What is magic?” she asked.
“Well, spells and incantations and stuff.”
“Really?”
I began to doubt my answer. “Yes?”
She sighed. “Magic is not what this world has made it out to be, dear. It is not light and fanciful, full of sparkles and delight. It is deep and dark and dangerous. Most of what is called ‘magic’ today stems from the power of the Fallen One.”
I didn’t know why, but my mom had always referred to the devil as “The Fallen One”.
“This world is stuck in his clutches, sweetheart,” Mama continued, averting her gaze and picking up another dish. “If the world adores it, is even obsessed with it, you should proceed with caution.”
“So…” I reached for her sudsy bowl and rinsed it off, setting it in the drying rack. “You can’t do magic?”
She arched an eyebrow. “What is magic?”
“You mean spells and things aren’t magic?”
“No… I think that they are a kind of magic. Magic is technically anything unlikely or unnatural that uses supernatural powers, though I think humans got it wrong.”
Now I was really confuzzled. “How so?”
“Hm.” Mama pursed her lips, obviously choosing her wording carefully. “If we were to go with the dictionary definition of magic, then one could say that Moses, Peter, and Paul all were magicians, since they did unnatural things with the help of a supernatural force – God. But the Bible clearly states that God is against magic, sorcery, charms, and fortune-telling, right?”
“Right,” I echoed, rinsing another plate.
“But oftentimes people use the word ‘magic’ to describe something amazing or unexplainable, whether or not they are natural. In which case I would say that everything in this wide, beautiful world is magical.” She smiled and tapped my nose with a soapy finger, leaving a blob of bubbles. “Including you.”
I smiled back, brushing the bubbles from my nose and dripping water onto my hightops. “But that doesn’t answer my question: can you do magic?”
Mama sighed, apparently giving up with her vague answers. “No, not really. I am gifted with the ability to speak to and interact with trees, unlike humans. If they realized I was a fairy and able to do that, they would call me magical. But, sweetheart” -she looked at me, her eyes soft- “there’s nothing supernatural about it. The gift is what makes me a fairy and they humans, nothing more.”
My head was still exploding with questions. “So, if Dad’s a naiad, and you’re a dryad, what am I?”
Mama rinsed her hands and wiped them on a towel, then took my face in her hands. “Special,” she said, and kissed my forehead. “Now, go finish your chores. We can talk more over dinner.”
***
It’s been two years and I still haven’t really gotten used to the idea. Some days it is just a fact floating around in the back of my skull. Other days I’m fairly screaming, “I’M A FAIRY” inside my noodle all day long.
It’s weird thinking about it, really. Dad said that someday he’d take me to meet more fairies. Apparently there are thousands living among the humans, hiding until they are able to emerge into the world without being seen as unnatural or as gods.
And all of ‘em have tiny feet.
It’s amazing how much a couple of hightops can change your life. A couple of old, familiar, neon-yellow hightops that refuse to wear out. I’m never gonna get rid of ‘em, though, no matter how many times people tell me that they’re just a pair of shoes.
Wrap Up
Whelp, that’s a wrap! Hope y’all enjoyed it, and make sure to check out Kads’ blog. 😉 What are your opinions on magic? Footwear? My cringe-worthy prose? Let me know in the comments!
And, as always, take courage, pursue God, and smile while you still have teeth! 😀
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