Pink Shoes And Red Blood

Two little pink shoes.

Perfectly polished, smooth as satin. A familiar smell came from inside the shoes, the smell that accimpanied brand-new shoes, and brand-new shoes alone. Eliza knew that the brand-new smell would only go away if two little warm, living feet filled the shoes. But none ever would. Tear drops hit the red wrapping paper over and over as Eliza put on the last strip of tape. There now. It was done. Eliza sat back on her knees and placed the little red parcel under the christmas tree. It was beautiful there, surrounded by pine needles and illuminated under twinkling lights. Eliza imagined the way her daughter's little dimpled hands would have looked as they ripped open that paper, and the way her face would light up when she saw the pink shoes...

But that beautiful child, with her golden ringlets and big blue eyes, would never see those shoes. Why she had wrapped the little shoe box, Eliza did not know. It seemed right. Eliza wrapped her hands around her knees and rocked back and forth, trying to stop the endless memories from coming. If she had just been more cautious turning that corner... If she'd have just looked both ways... Truck lights flashed in her minds eye. Screams rang in her ears.

But the pain went even deeper then that, for Eliza. Because now the self accusations were coming, fast and full. If she'd just payed more attention to that angelic child, even when she spread flour over every floor in the house, even when she drew in Eliza's check books, even when she screamed at the top of her lungs. If she'd just stopped for one second to tell that little child how much she loved her...

It was then that the door bell rang. Eliza wiped the useless tears from her eyes and smiled with effort as she walked to the door and opened it. Tonight was Christmas eve, and it was time to put on a brave face.

"Eliza! How is my baby sister?" Eliza hugged her family members as they came in, one by one, and filled the house with their noise and their joy. Soon the usually quiet house was brimming with christmas cheer. Eliza sat crossed legged on the floor by the christmas tree, holding a small red present in her hands, turning it over and over. This would have been little Olivia's seventh christmas, if she were here now. But as things stood now, it was Eliza's first christmas without her daughter. The first christmas alone since the year Olivia had come in to the world, kicking and screaming all the way.

Eliza watched her siblings and cousins, all grown now like she was, as they laughed and joked boisterously. There was her older sister Marylin, sitting contentedly on the couch, her fingers absent mindedly running through the hair of her eight year old daughter.

"Mummy." The little girl said, trying to get her mother's attention. She held out a little finger, with a little cut oozing a small ammount of dark red blood. But Marylin chatted on to a cousin, giving no heed to the child.

"Mummy!" the little girl said again, pulling on her mothers shirt. This time, her mummy put up a finger to silence her, and again she went on, her voice trailing on and on about shopping and how long the pie had taken to bake.

"Mummy, I need a band-aid!" The little girl said, much louder this time. But still Marylin droned on, her eyes never once leaving her important conversation. A white hot seering anger was taking hold of Eliza, as she watched her sister's hand run through her daughters hair, while Marylin let the soft strands slip through her fingers like air and time and didn't stop to realize what she had. What she had that Eliza did not.

"MARYLIN!" Eliza shouted, her voice ringing out into every corner of the house.
The place went quiet, as every head turned Eliza's direction.
A moment of silence passed fleetingly.

"Your daughter is bleeding." Eliza said, in a cold, calm voice. Her sister's face clouded with confusion. She looked down at her child, who held up her finger as evidence. Marylin laughed shakily, and looked back to Eliza.

"It's just a cut, Eliza, no need to panic." With excessive force, Eliza flung all of her anger straight at Marylin's head, in the form of a small red box.

"Your child can still bleed." Eliza spat. She could feel desperation rising within her, spilling over. "YOUR DAUGHTER. CAN STILL. WEAR PINK SHOES." Eliza now shouted.

She left then. Out the door and down her street she went. The cold nipped at her nose and fingers, and she welcome it's icy tough. She spent Christmas eve on a lonely curb. With just herself and her emptiness.

It was ideal company.

Word count: 781
This story if for the contest "So emotional". I really want to work on show, not tell, so in this piece I tried my hand at remorse and jealousy. Let me know what you think.