The Red Shoes
(a flash fiction piece)
By M.J. Moores.
The red satin shoes lay discarded on the plush crimson carpet in such a way you’d think their owner had chucked them off in a hurry… on purpose.
They still held the cloying scent of floral body spray and sweat from dancing nearly every song at the wedding, but even that memento faded in the minutes to follow.
Entering the room you might catch sight of those empty red shoes or your might not, skewed as they are by the end of the bed. If you see them, you might even anticipate the sound of water splashing against chilly faux marble tile as the oober-sweet aroma of excessive glee waits to be washed away.
But that sound never breaks the low hum of the air conditioner, nor does the sickly sweet scent make it quite as far as the front door.
Had you taken the time to fully enter the room, you might have noticed the absence of a crumpled vermillion spandex dress where it would have been strewn across the floor along with abandoned sheer panty-hose and one of those shelf-bras that make the girls stand-up and say hello.
However, had the odd angle of the shoes caught your attention and you’d bothered to notice the non-existent cascade of water and the almost rotted scent of over-ripe fruit, you might have seen the single drop of red blood on the toe of the right shoe.
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