They say that we are born into this world carefree. That’s a lie. We’re born wet and naked and screaming. The few months between coming home and when we take our first steps are the only truly carefree ones we are afforded. Because once we learn to walk, we’re on our own. It may not seem like it, but as soon as you have the independence to go somewhere yourself, it’s you versus the world. The only thing between you and the harsh ground is your shoes.

This is the story of a man. Or, perhaps more accurately, this is the story of the shoes worn by a man. Shoes that tried and, as is always the case, ultimately failed to protect him.  However the story of a man and his shoes are inseparable, so this will end up being the story of a man.

The shoes that Ronald G Starling wore on his first day of school remember a sticky hallway floor, and being lined up next to many others in an anxious. If they had been able to look up, they might have seen many more nervous faces around Ron’s own. They might even, if they had been particularly sharp-eyed, for shoes at least, caught the slight, unfounded, inexplicable, malice in the stare of the boy four places behind Ron. They might have also noticed the way that Ron looked at the girl in a separate line across the schoolyard. But they didn’t. Because at the end of the day, they’re only shoes.

The shoes didn’t last long. They fell prey to the scuffs and wear of boyhood enthusiasm all too quickly. Soon they were beginning to come apart, and could no longer hold together. The same was not to be said of Ron, however. He found himself thriving in his new environment, and the shoes that he was about to cast off, had they known what was to come, would have most likely tried to root him to the ground to keep him there.

Soon a new pair of shoes found their way to Ron’s feet. These lasted longer, but saw more wear on their owner than them. It was at this point that certain differences, established in an eye blink on the very first day of school, began to reach a breaking point. As what had previously began as verbal abuse became more physical, Ron found it hard to cope. Too many times the shoes found themselves soaked as they were thrown into puddles, only to be retrieved and dried by Ron’s mother, who tutted quietly when nobody was around as she put the shoes out to dry, stuffed with newspaper. She knew what was happening at school, but what could she do?

Ron spent the rest of his school days locked into a silent conflict. Many pairs of shoes came and went. Sports shoes began to appear, and Ron made something of a name for himself on the track, setting some new school records. He credited his achievements to his ‘lucky’ shoes. However, Ron never did become an athlete. His heart was never in it. His mother had always told him that he should follow his heart. She meant well, but she was wrong. In life, it’s always better to follow your toes. That way you will always end up going forward.

If Ron had carried on going forwards, he might have ended up somewhere else. This story would be of shoes walking down an aisle of a church, treading through a brand new house. Being kicked off day after day following hours walking an office floor. But this is not that story. Here the story takes a turn for a whole new type of shoes. This is the story of the military boot that found it’s way onto Ron’s foot. He had always been told to follow his heart, and when he told his mother, she nodded. She cried later, but she only had herself to blame. Her advice for him to follow his heart had got him into this, and the least she could do was to stand by it. She needed to be strong. Before he shipped out to his deployment, he came and visited her at his childhood home, and she insisted polishing his boots for him one last time. That night, as she drew the brush across the hardened leather, her tears blotted darkness onto the wax, to be sealed in as it dried.

The boots carried her tears all the way to the desert, and their soles saw foreign sand for the first time. In the harsh sunlight, and smelling of acrid sweat, the boots saw Ron safely through several dangers. But not all of them. It happened almost too quickly. There was a flash, a bang. and a great cloud of dust. Then the boots weren’t attached to Ron any more. They flew across the dusty road, bouncing obscenely through piles of debris. The shattered bones visible, protruding above the boot’s tongue. This is where our story, the story of Ron’s shoes, ends. Because after he returned, he never needed shoes again.