EXERCISE Different Perspectives - Hitman's Shoes

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Cammybatty, May 11, 2014.

  1. I come to you today with a challenge you cannot refuse.

    When we think of a mobster, we think the great mob era of the 20s to 40s, the gentlemen in suits and ties with highly polished shoes. But when they get their hands dirty, well.

    Your challenge is to take us into the life of a pair of mobster's shoes; specifically, a hitman's. Do they see action, or the easy life? Do they understand their role in life, or are they impassive? You decide.
  2. I hope it's not too late to reply!


    I am little to nothing. I have never looked at the sky. I have never seen the victim's face. Not alive. I have felt repetitive trauma, and been splattered with blood.

    He doesn't think about me. When he kicks, he uses me, and I hurt. But he laughs at the victim, and laughs at me. It's all a joke.

    He's killed so many... So many splatters of blood on me. On him. On the ground I tread. I am like a dog; And I can sense when someone has died where I step, or where someone went into labor, or when someone spit their gum. I see all, deep into the past.

    But now, He is in jail and I am alone. He abandoned me in the car for new. She is gorgeous. She fits him perfectly; Shining black like me, but without the graceful laces and the bloodsplattered stains...

    "You are nothing but a momento now," She said to me when he took me off for Her. "A prize. A memory." And then she carried him away.

    Now I am behind glass a hundred years later. I have deteriorated, but I remember Him. How destructive. How many he'd killed for money.

    And here I am. I am only a pair of dusty, old, bloodstained pair of dress shoes.

    Who am I to tell you what He was like...?
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  3. I never see or hear much down here, but I know that she is once again taking another job. It's a day to day thing for her. One job after the next. This one is particularly bloody. She had to get up close and personal with this one. I know because her victim's shoes were staring right at me. They were confused and smudged up, a nice pair of fancy black ones now ruined. But it was apart of the job. Just as it always was. A man, her victim, fell in front of me with a face of shock and fear as if it were carved on to him like a statue. I kicked the guy in the stomach making him cough up blood. Unfortunately I got some of it on me, but she was so kind to clean the stains off. She always kept me clean. She was so nice, saying things like, "You're such a comfortable pair of shoes." It makes me happy to know that I'm doing my job well.

    And while I do my job, she does hers, one day after the next.
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