I don’t remember what the assignment was here, but I know I wrote it for a class. It could’ve been a really vague assignment like “write a 1500 word story with first-person dialogue.” I really don’t know. All I do know is that it was inspired by events going on at the time. 9/11 occurred just a few years before this was written, and we’d only been in Iraq for a year or two. One of my classmates that reviewed the story felt it was a completely unrealistic story, and I’m sure they are right. But cautionary tales aren’t supposed to be warm, fuzzy, and realistic. They’re supposed to be terrifying. It should also be noted that I wrote this years before the World War Z movie had zombies piling on top of each other to get over a wall, so the “human ramp” idea was my own. Not to say that the filmmakers took the idea from me, but I just want to be clear that I didn’t steal it from them.
For this assignment, we were supposed to write from the perspective of someone who is wearing two different shoes and suddenly realizes it. They were also supposed to think that everyone noticed and that immediately made me think the character would kind of freak out about it. My only fears with this story are that someone might completely miss the irony or in some way think it’s biographical. But like, I swear I’m not, like, represented in that story. Like, no way dude.
The food court is busy today, thinks the young male. He looks at his watch: 11:54. Just about lunchtime. He is seated comfortably in an uncomfortable chair, working through a McDonald’s #1 value meal. Whatever value they have, says the cynic inside him. The crowds that flow by seem unconcerned with him. They are too busy deciding what restaurant to frequent and what stores they want to browse. He too is busy choking down the remnants of his Big Mac.
A group of teenage girls bounce into their seats not too far from him. Their high-pitched voices echo throughout the food court. He is no older than they are. Well, not old enough to matter, he thinks. From across the distance, he tries to nonchalantly check the girls out. He feels somewhat guilty staring them down in a public place, almost like a dirty old man. He cleans his hands with the sandpaper napkin, attempting to be more casual, and leans back in his seat for the first time since he got there.
“Hard ass seats,” he says, complaining to no one in particular. He sips his Sprite slowly, scanning the throngs of people passing by, but his real attention remains on the girls. Mmm, she’s a hottie, he thinks about one in particular.
The one he decided was the cutest (and, coincidentally, probably the oldest) has blonde hair and a tan that is a cross between cinnamon and citrus. Her flat, straw-colored hair dances about her shoulders, distracting him like a donkey with a carrot. It reacts to her every movement, to every movement the other girls make, and to the natural currents from the rush of people. It flows like it’s alive, mesmerizing him. He had no idea how long he had been staring at her before he realized she was looking at him. Shit, he almost says aloud.
The complete story appears in the 2026 revised edition of Ten Terribly Terrific Tall Tales Trying to Trip the Triune, coming soon.
