Stones (Revisited)

They stooped to the pavement to collect the now fluttering pages of a discarded notebook. The pages fumbled clumsily in their hands. A few escaped from their grasp. A few photographs escaped from their grasp, to be exact. I watched as they bent at both the knees and the ankles, with their heels upraised to retrieve the photos of what would be feet.

Just feet. There were big feet and small feet. The feet were playing and vibrating in the photographs. Moving. There were feet in sheets, and painted toes. Just two or three painted toes.

They looked down at their own feet in the soles of their slippers to find similarly painted toes. However, the ones in the photographs were painted a soft, periwinkle blue. The ones on their feet are now painted a bright red. It was the two toes that flanked the middle on their right foot that were painted.

They read what is stated on the front cover over and over, probably twelve to fifteen times; “Something in my body simply turned to stone. My world followed.”

Only when I asked what it said did they respond with the words written on the page, and a tear streaking their cheek. They stole the notebook back from the trashcan outside of their house and stumbled inside.

While they were in the shower, because they don’t like to be seen with the evidence of tears running down their cheeks, I peeked at the notebook idling on the bathroom counter to see the space in the photographs filled with feet.

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