This is a flash fiction piece, inspired by a prompt by Eric Alagan. The point is to write a 55-word story about a hobo, but never use that word in the story. Go read his as well; it’s really excellent.
This is based on a true story, but since I only know it secondhand, it may not be entirely accurate. Perhaps the person associated with it will read this and let me know. 🙂
I bought him shoes when he passed through town. He didn’t want a home; said he already had one—with an expansive gesture. But the new Reeboks keep him warm and dry.
He sends emails sometimes, when his meandering journey passes a library.
It’s freezing out now. I trust his wits, but I still pray.
I thought the Friday Fictioneers community might be interesting in knowing that one of my previous Fictioneers stories, Enough to Go Around, was recently accepted to be part of the upcoming Leodegraunce flash fiction anthology. I’m not sure when it’s coming out, but I’ll let you know when I know.
As for this current story, I have nothing to say except that it is not an allegory, just a story.
copyright Adam Ickes
The feel of verdant, dew-covered blades anointing his toes: rapture.
Gamboling barefoot through a meadow: epiphany.
The pungent, whispering squish of a cow pie under his heel: heavenly.
Feet baptized in a cool, sun-flecked brook: pure adoration.
Denouncing shoes forever for the wild, free ecstasy that only the holy unshod can know: heresy.
“Reebok! Reebok Puma III, are you listening to me?” The iron voice crushed his fantasies under its cruel heel and brought him back to an equally hard reality of tight shoes pinching his feet. He nodded glumly and raising the Sacred Shoehorn, he repeated the catechism again.