The Rat-King

Her fingers began to tire. There were thin red lines appearing, thicker than the veins and lines of her middle-aged hands. Occasionally she paused to lick her thumb and rub away, in moist circles, any dusty marks she found on the leather. She enjoyed the smell. She was fortunate that for the two pairs of shoes that didn't have laces there were thin bands across the foot where she could pass the lace from other shoes through the gap, between the two pieces of leather. For the flip-flops, she simply looped them twice around the thong. 


When she'd finished it looked like a rat-king, the mythical cluster of vermin found with their tails tied together and, given her motivation, she was delighted with the association. She picked it up by the central knot and carried it out the house. With a deep breath, she hurled it up towards the telephone lines that ran in tandem with the street. First time lucky. All his shoes hung there together on the sagging wire, a good fifteen feet off the ground. At least that would get him out the house and maybe he could start the fucking gardening.