I took the long path

Instead of the short

I swam across the ocean

Instead of taking the bridge

I climbed the mountain

Instead of the stairs

And when I finally got to the beach I had been traveling to

I burned my shoes

Instead of taking them off

intimidation threaded itself within my bloodstream, each finger drumming against the desk over and over and over again. an endless cycle of anxiety, as my eyes avoided everything but the paper on my desk.

a smooth voice that reminded me of cloves and mint chimed directly in front of me. I forced my entire being to pretend my headphones were working for once. the voice continued to repeat my name, over and over again.

with one quick yank, both headphones flew out and I jerked my eyes upwards. my fingers stopped drumming against the desk, just shaking ever so slightly now.

"is that seat taken?" he questioned, pointing towards the seat next to me.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to stay nonchalant, as if I wasn't about to throw up all of my entrails.

"no."

once more, I placed my headphones back in and forced my eyes to the floor. the intensity of my blush practically burned my shoes and I wasn't the only one that noticed.

"you want some help with that worksheet?"

"...I guess."

(who would've known this guy would become my current boyfriend...)

Ashes swept across my bare feet, still a bit warm. My friend, Ashley, winced as she saw them. She was not the one who burned my shoes; she would never do that. She just felt bad for me.

"That's not good," she commented, frowning.

"No," I agreed. "It isn't."

I glanced up at the sky, which was turning a deep share of purple. "We should be getting home," I said nervously.

"With no shoes on?" Ashley snorted. "I don't think so. Anyway, you were sick yesterday."

"I wasn't really-"

"You dry heaved all day, and threw up thrice."

I sighed. "I guess. I feel better today, though."

"You're still too weak for the journey," Ashley protested. "Especially without shoes on. Let's stay the night."

"Where?" I asked.

The junkyard was full of nothing except--well, junk. Rusty cars were hidden behind broken things--cracked computers, shattered mirrors, old, broken beds, and many other odd things. There was a small shack in the corner--but it looked like it couldn't hold even one of us, not to mention two of us lying down, sleeping.

Ashley's eyes were turned to the shack, also, as the sky decided to sprinkle rain on us. Small raindrops stuck to her hair, making it seem as if her hair had tiny jewels in them. She nodded toward the shack.

"We will have to stay there," she admitted. "There's nowhere else, unless you want to get wet."

I didn't like either of the choices, but staying dry was better than getting wet, I guess. So we made our way toward the shack, and squeezed inside of it as soon as thunder boomed through the sky, and the sprinkle turned into a steady drizzle.

There was one window in the shack--a very tiny window, but still a window all the same. It was a small shack--that's why they call it shacks, obviously--but it was not as small as I thought it was. Two people could sit up inside of it, or even lie down, curled up, but you could not fully stretch out. So me and Ashley curled up together, trying to stay warm, as it started to pour down rain, and water leaked from the roof right into our faces, mouths, and eyes.

It was a long night of falling asleep, waking up again, trying to get comfortable, falling asleep again, etcetera.

When the sun's warm beams finally streamed through the tiny window, we were more than ready to get out of the shack.

We stepped onto the wet dirt, although it had stopped raining sometime in the night. Ashley stretched out her arms, yawned, and spoke.

"Well, you'd better get ready, because we have a long day ahead of us, traveling home."

Parched

Desert

I thirst for you

A mirage

Across the dance floor

Moves so hot

It burned my shoes

I'd just walked into this odd little excuse for a restaurant that I wouldn't of noticed had I not been on the road for ten hours straight.

I'd run outta snacks, which as you can imagine wasn't a great thing. Needless to say, I was starving and couldn't of waited longer.

"You gotta take off your shoes sweetheart," a voice calls. "I can't keep mopin' in here."

"Excuse me?"

"Do it or get outta here."

I look around, inspecting the floor, deciding whether I ought to stay or not.

I slip off my shoes, glad that I wore socks. The floor doesn't seem like it was just mopped, but some part of me convinced my whole being that it was fine. I'm guessing that my stomach was responsible for that decision.

"You can just put those ova here, darling," an old woman says, appearing out of nowhere.

I do as she says, then go up to the counter, waiting for some service.

"That's not how it works round here," she says, clickin' her tongue. "We serve one meal, an one meal only."

"Ok..." I respond, still not knowing what exactly I had got myself into.

"You betta have a seat at one of those tables," another voice joins in. "It'll be just a little while."

I'm sorta glad to be rid of them for a while. They're odd folks, and I make a point of sitting down with my back towards them.

I take in my surroundings, marveling at how a joint like this could stay open. The health inspectors probably forgot all about it. The floors are wet, and a tad sticky. The socks I'm wearing are slowly getting totally and absolutely disgusting.

The ceiling is cracked, but at least it ain't that hideous popcorn ceiling. I can't bear to see that God-awful stuff.

The walls are classed up with wood paneling. It sorta makes the room seem smaller than I know it is. I believe that I'm getting a little claustrophobic right about now.

"Alrighty, ma'am. I believe that this is one fine meal," the other voice, a man in a greasy apron, says.

He puts the plate in fronta me, and I can't figure out what the heck it is for a little while.

An suddenly, I figure it out.

"Um, excuse me sir, but I believe that you've gone and burned my shoes."

I burned my shoes and took a walk

Down a lonely road where

The crows deign to talk,

And the light shines down

At an awkward slant,

And it leads out of town

Where I'll never know,

Because I burned my shoes

Five days ago,

And I haven't left sight

Of where I began.

I could see the fire in his eyes,

I am sick of all the lies.

I can't believe the words slipped from my mouth,

I know this conversation is going to go south.

I wonder what he's thinking,

I pick up my cup and keep drinking.

I watch him stand up slowly,

I am all of a sudden feeling holy.

I am afraid he's going to hurt me,

I am shocked because what he does I didn't foresee.

He has my favorite shoes in his hands,

Goes to the shed and grabs the gas can.

Lit the match and burned my shoes,

What the hell? Total shoe abuse.

I pack my things and I'm ready to go,

But first I grab his shoes and throw them in the fiery show.

The sizzling blacktop burned my shoes as I watched the younger girls jump rope a few steps away, under the only tree in this dump. I remember when I did that. When I had friends. But it was so long ago, back when I went to school here and loved it. Now it's just gone.

The stupid community center is the main place kids hang out these days. By kids, I mean first to seventh grade, and the eighth graders just stay at home. I don't, though.

The city knocked down my school and replaced it with this melting pot of tiny pests.

They said, "What's wrong with moving to a whole 'nother town just for learning 'cause you can't pay for private school? What's so bad about leaving all your friends and family back here? I don't see a problem with that."

Well. Maybe they didn't say it exactly that way.

But it's how I felt.

I burned my shoes running from my demons. I knew I couldn't hide from them forever. In my room I would hear them scratching the walls. My friends could hear them too. The good ones. They saw every move I made. The devil saw it too. He saw me bathing in the river of purity and knew it wouldn't be enough. But then you came. You saw me. The real me. Innocent. I fell in love with you thinking you were a ghost. I tried not to. But it happened anyway.