Live by the gun, die by the gun. This quotation applies to those who are so immersed into something that their lives revolve around it until their deaths. Criminals, for example, with the advent of guns, makes their living using guns but usually dies from a bullet shot right out of one. But what of little ladies that love shoes?
Rae went running down the stairs. She’s been looking for her pink stilettos for over 20 minutes already, but she couldn’t find it in her shoe cabinet. Thinking that she left it by the door when she came home late last night, she went hurriedly to the front of the house to search for the missing pair.
For as long as she lived, Rae had loved to collect shoes. She had her black doll shoes when she was little, almost still whole except for a few scrapes on the soles. She also kept her first espadrilles, blue velveteen ones with blue glass beads on the toe cap. Her first heels, pink ones with a flower on each side, just near the buckles, were still shiny, albeit dusty, sitting on the top shelf of her cabinet. She had all kinds of shoes that a woman could think of, but she couldn’t find her hot pink stilettos.
Rae was supposed to go out on a date, and to match her outfit, she wanted those shoes desperately. She had to meet Gerry at 7 o’clock, and it was already three minutes past the hour. She really didn’t want to default to her leopard-printed clogs since it made her feel aggressive, and that was, after all, their first date.
She was at the brink of tearing the house apart when she caught a glimpse of something at the wet road. Pink things were on the middle of the road, which looked like shoes. Curious and suspicious, she went out and there she saw them. Her pink stilettos were on the middle of the road, so she went out to get them.
Raised by overly cautious parents, she looked left and right before crossing the street, wearing her baby pink bathrobe and furry slippers. No car in sight. Not a soul was on the street, perhaps due to the rain that had just stopped.
“Oh God! They might be wet!” she thought to herself as she drew closer to the shoes.
She bent over to pick up the shoes when she felt a sharp pain on her right side. She heard a skidding sound while she was rolling on the pavement, and when she finally stopped, her gaze was still on her shoes.
A man came screaming, “Miss, are you alright? Oh Jesus! Please don’t die! Please don’t die!” The man was frantic, but Rae was fixed on her shoe. She kept pointing at it. The driver knelt down to her, and tried to figure out what she was saying.
“Look. Look,” was all she muttered, but the man couldn’t see anything.
With her vision fading, she kept on staring at a hazy shadow with outstretched wings wearing her pink shoes. What she could make out was that its head was turned towards her, tilted to one side, as it took out a tattered but thick ledger. It opened the ledger and seemed to have etched out some notation. Then, the dark figure stepped out of the missing shoes, walked towards her, stretched a hand to her, and everything went black.
It seems that life has a funny way of toying with people, but death has a more subtle approach. In Rae’s case, it seems that the quote applies: live by the gun, die by the gun or more exactly, live by the shoe, die by it, too.