Prompt: She bought the shoes but regretted them later that evening.
She bought the shoes but regretted them later that evening.
She wasn’t sure why, exactly. Why had she bought them? They weren’t special, just a pair of basic black stilettos. In fact (and this was the oddest part), they weren’t even her size.
When she brought them home, she didn’t even take them out of the shoe box. It wasn’t worth the hassle. The shoebox, which didn’t have a name printed anywhere on it, sat patiently on her coffee table. That’s when she began to regret the shoes. It wasn’t the shoes she disliked, it was the box. How it sat patiently (which was quite unusual for a box).
She went to bed early that night. She had another migraine coming on and had a job interview the next day. She wanted to get a good night’s sleep.
The box waited patiently. Consequently, she couldn’t sleep.
She entered her living room, and there it was. She lifted the lid off the box, pulled the shoes out of the box, and examined them carefully. They really weren’t special at all. She wandered over to her closet, placed the shoes on the floor, and turned back to throw away the box.
The box had, apparently, grown inpatient. It was gone.
Her migraine pounded behind her eyes, and she rubbed her face, letting her gaze fall to her feet.
And there it was.
She briefly wondered if she could cancel her interview.
When the police showed up, three days later, the box was gone. Its patience was limited. Its thirst, however, was not.