Soles of a Thousand Words

            So originally my story was about Gadublees. They were made up forest creatures who found themselves fighting off the intruding Japanese beetles. After that idea faded I decided to wright a story of a sister's bucket list which incorporated many of my own bucket list items. It wasn't until this past Tuesday that my story found me.
           I often spend many hours on the T. I take the redline all over Boston numerous days through out the city. I am a very in depth observer. I am oblivious to the obvious but some how susceptible to the small things. My favorite part of taking the T is looking at the passenger's shoes. I have never seen the same pair of shoes. There are so many different pairs. Sometimes not matching ones. I believe that a person's shoes tells a story about them. A story of where they have been, the things that they've seen, or the places they've come across. Now I know that my short story will incorporate several pictures with a story from the shoe's owner for each picture.


Here's the first of many to come:


 






               I bet you think I'm a loser, don't you? My beard unshaven, the faint smell of whiskey on my breath. The 




layers of clothes worn as my blankets for the cold mid December night.




               I've traveled all across the country, and learned that these streets of Boston is where my homes at. It




may be an untraditional home, but this is where I rest my head at night, where I relax in my spear time. What 




would you call it? I am certainly not homeless for these streets provide me the same comforts your homes do. 




Houseless would be the correct term. For I do not have a house, but a home I do. There are no beams that hold a




roof over my head when it's raining, but rather two arms that hold a newspaper and deflect the raindrops as the 




wet ink runs down the palms and down my sleeves.




               I was just sixteen when I ran away from home. I didn't run because I had a bad home life or no friends, 




I ran to find something. I had no idea what, but knew it wasn't in that house or that town. I felt suffocated. It could 




have been my anxiety or the fact that my metal health was deteriorating but there was no way I could stay and 




grow. I needed to free myself and my mind. I needed to grow and explore.










(The story is still in the making. There will be several different ones that make up this one 




short story. I plan on righting one every time I go into Boston which is roughly twice a week. 




The passengers are my inspiration.)