Can You Guess What the Story Is?

The sun is setting and an icy breeze is running down the alley, making my bare body cold.  The smell of mold, bad food and peoples dump is overpowering, but in spite of all this there is the sweet smell of freshly cut leather just waiting to be made into a beautiful masterpiece.  I walk down the labyrinth like streets following the smell until I come to a small shop. There are no lights on, no one is inside, and it has the look and feel of a funeral home. The closing sign in the window tells me everything I need to know about the man who works here, and I know I can help him.

A small rock hits me on the back of the head, I turn and see one of my comrade’s, who also smelled the leather and wants to work. The old clock in the village square chimes 12 times giving us our q to go in, we easily open the wood door and immediately see the leather all cut out and waiting for us. My friend grabs the thread I grab the needle and we work our magic. Every stitch I make is like a soothing word, the feeling of the leather in my hands and seeing my work come together is unlike any other. I set down my finished work of art, and wait outside the shop to see what happens.

 A medium height, skinny man, with disheveled gray hair and a worn coat sleepily walks into the shop. I go up and peer through the window, and I can’t help but laugh a little with joy. He doesn’t say a word, he just stares and scratches his head. I hear footsteps coming up the street, so I jump to a corner so as not to be seen. A thick, but tall man walks past the shop, stops looks and walks in. I wait a few minutes and he walks out with a grin on his face as he wears my masterpiece. Pleased with myself, and my work, my comrade and I leave to find someone else to help. But throughout the day I can still smell the leather and I can feel it in my hands and I can’t help but go back. At midnight I run back to the shop, but this time there is enough leather for 4 shoes. I give a little shout of joy and set to my work.

The sun is starting to wake the world and I am reluctantly finishing, but as I put the last loving touches onto the shoes I notice a pile of small clothes that look as if they were custom made just for me. As I put them on I realize I don’t have to hide any more, I can travel the world and feel free for the first time in my life. I feel somewhat bad leaving the shoemaker, but he will be fine without me.

Madison, 500 word story