The Shoes

Esteban ran the back alleys. It was nearly light. His shoes clomped on the uneven pavement, breaking the silence of the night. Esteban missed his old, quiet shoes. They had been taken from him weeks ago by Fernando. The shoes he wore now were too big. They were once his father's shoes. He missed his old shoes more than he missed his father, whom he hardly missed at all.

Esteban slowed as he came to Avenida Central, then stopped, hidden in the alleyway. Most of the street lights were broken, which was good. He waited and listened from the darkness.

“Did you bring the money?,” he whispered, quoting what he knew would be the first words out of Fernando’s mouth.

The old women would be awake soon. Esteban, as always, would let himself into her home with the key he carried around his neck. He'd warm soup from a can and while it heated he would help the old woman up from the chair she slept in, and into the bathroom, and return with the soup steaming in a bowl. What she couldn't finish, Esteban would eat. Sometimes there would be day-old bread which he would dip into the soup to make it easier for her to chew.

With one more check for Fernando, Esteban dashed across the street knowing as he ran that his shoes would be heard. He came to a sudden halt just as he entered the next alleyway.

He saw the body lying across the pavement. He recognized his old shoes on the boy’s feet. He could see the blood seeping around the body and the open, lifeless eyes. He thought about taking his shoes back, but stepped over the body instead and continued running.

The old women would be awake soon.

-300 Words-