Naked Feet

Mistovos looked down at his naked feet, calloused and worn, he wondered what happened to his shoes. He had a pair when he was captured, but they were gone now. It was fitting, if his soul was to be free, shouldn't his feet be also? Nevertheless, he wanted his shoes. Such a trivial thing to think about on the cusp of one's demise, but dying without shoes on bothered Mistovos. All his life he had worn shoes. His mama use to tell him, "son, on the journey of life, the most important thing you need is a good pair of shoes," he thought her crazy then, now, he thought differently.

The monsters had captured him a few weeks ago when they raided his village and brought him to their wasteland of a home. It was still the rainy season and there was mud everywhere, add to that the mosquitoes, and the combination made him want to howl in agony. It wasn't that the mosquitoes bite were painful, they were just so, annoying. The irritating noise they made when passing your ears and the relentless sting after sting, tiny pin pricks without the added pleasure of killing the blood suckers...it was all he could do not to roll around in the mud. Maiming and other forms of tortures he could tolerate, and as a war lord, he had inflicted such a punishment, but even he was not so evil as to subject his captors to mosquitoes. These monsters were truly evil. In the midst of the misery however, there was one comfort, he still had his shoes.

Morning had come, or maybe it was evening; in this part of country every evil tainted hour resembled each other. A thought crossed his mind, Mistovos knew it had to be his sixth sense, or the universe or something...but he knew today was the day he would be die. The creatures came to his cage, their hides covered in thick bear skin fur, dyed black and firm black boots also wrapped in fur. He envied their protection from the mosquitoes and hated them even more for it. The biggest one of them yanked his chain and pulled him out of the cage, poking him with a spear to move towards the executioner. It was here he noticed his lack of footwear.

There was no helping it now, he was to die, a martyr for his people, bound and shoeless. A small smile crept across his face, the words of his mother returning to him. His journey in life was over and his shoes knew it, they had liberated his feet and he was to be liberated from life. The executioner drove him to his feet and cried out in a foreign tongue, his name the only recognizable word, " tonera ecth Mistovos, senalu va shu!" The creatures cheered and five seconds later, his head rolled away from his body.

A light shone in Mistovos' eyes, and he had to blink a few time to clear his vision. He was standing on a road, trees flanking the path. He smiled knowingly; his sacrifice had been accepted by his ancestors, he was now in their land and the road he was now facing was to lead him to them. Feeling a new wave of joy surging through him, there was sudden urge to look down. On his feet, staring back at him, was his old pair of shoes; this time they were brand new. If shoes could smile, they would smile at him. In that moment, there was no doubt that in death, he had won.