Shoes on the Shore
A rather well-known unsolved mystery involves shoes that have washed up along the shores of Canada that contain in them human feet that have been in some way detached from the body of those they belong to. These shoes have washed up without reason or rhyme, and have remained an intriguing topic that has stumped investigators to this day.
Many people who stumble on the subject ask questions involving where these shoes must have come from, why they landed only on the western beaches of Canada, and to who do these feet belong. In all three instances, the uncertainties and speculation fail to ponder the real mystery: what could have happened to break twenty-one feet off of their matching person in such a manner?
It was brought to my attention not some time ago that pilots who are active in the Air Force are required to wear their military boots at all times during their flights. While not the ideal choice for these pilots, if they have to eject from a plane these steel-toed boots will keep their legs intact and protect their limbs during their descent. The boots also serve their purpose in case of a plane crash; if enough force is acted upon during a crash, the pilot’s feet can and have broken off of their bodies without the proper footwear. Thus, military steel-toed boots are highly encouraged.
It is my opinion that the shoes found on the coast of the Salish Sea belong to plane crash victims, though I do not have a select theory on which plane crash this must have been. If a crash over the Pacific left no bodies to be found, this could reasonably account for those people, as well as offer an explanation as to how these feet have been so cleanly and ‘naturally’ cut off.
Vandal Scandal
about three years ago I moved to a neighborhood right downtown. thirteen year old me was given freedom, and suddenly the entire city was at my fingerips. but it wasn't quite in the palm of my hand.
no. That luxury belonged to the Nuerological Sleep lab on the corner of 1st Ave North and 22nd.
Or better yet, the entity I had nicknamed "the Vandal"
It started with the Sleep lab. I was suspicious of the place, of its tan walls and vacant, quiet premises, the way it was almost hauntingly invisible, a void in the middle of the most colorful street in the city. I did my research on the head doctor, on what they studied- I watched the doctors go in and out, I even memorized their schedules.
Eventually I gave up. I had nothing to go on. Just a gut feeling.
That was until I saw the symbol for the first time, about 2 years later. It was simple- a black circle, about an inch below a black triangle. I searched the internet for something that matched, but I found nothing that looked exactly like it.
about two months ago I started volunteering at the local courthouse. Every time I passed I looked at the sculpture they have on their lawn, bright red chairs of every unique shape. It was on one of those brief looks that I saw it. The symbol.
I'd only seen it two places now. The Sleep lab and the Courthouse. It had to mean something. Except that places so serious and important always- and I mean always- scrub r paint over vandalism. especially on such iconic art installations.
But I wasn't fully sold. we have nearly 700 murals in my city, and about 7000 acts of vandalism each year. Some of the better ones have a signature- Fade and Moon among the legends. This was probably a signature of a very picky vandal.
The third time I saw it, I was climbing a tree in front of the Museum of Fine Arts. A museum known for its high-end events and exclusive, inhospitable property. They allowed the banyan and African trees to be climbed, and every now and then you could project movies on their outside wall. But don't you dare take picutres on their sidewalk.
Carved in the africa tree was the symbol.
That was last week.