Strawberry #23: Boots (Cherry boots)
Author: Sly
Title: A Scene with No Dialogue
Rating: G
Story: Spectrum
Word Count: 524 words
Challenge: Strawberry #23: Boots
Toppings: A Cherry on Top (first piece with no Dialogue what so ever)
The orange glow of the setting artificial sun causes the black walls to appear a shade of violet. The leather couch, stained and ratty from overuse, holds a marigold-tinted pillow on its left arm. A blanket, equally as tattered, hangs haphazardly over the back. The entire scene calls for comfort.
In the far right lies a single flat-screened monitor. Whether it is a television, a computer, or some other technological advice is unable to be determined by sight alone. Just left of the machinery sits a desk, a rolling chair sitting inside the hollowed out base. On the fine oak surface lies a pair of mirrorshade goggles, gloves with orange glass covering delicate, technical devices, and a hair clip with a few strands of green-tinted platinum hair weaving through the comb.
The left of the room leads to a room that is never used. Pots and pans dangle in their holding pins. The dust collecting on them is now more than an inch thick. The stove, which has never had the fortune of being lit, is still pristine and white. The only appliance of use is the refrigerator, which has the stain of sweaty and oil palms marring its black handle.
The front of the room holds the entrance. By the black mat with the word “Welcome” stitched on in white, two pairs of boots stand beside each other. Both black and made of leather, their designs and wear stood to individualize them.
The bigger pair’s heels are almost worn away, the black turning to gray, and in some places white. Scratches decorate the sides, especially on outside, as if a very clumsy , or a very careless, person wears them. Only ankle length, the cushion circling the opening grows flat and discolored from perspiration and running. The toes, supported by steel, maintained their shape, though the silver is starting to shimmer through. Three buckles and a zipper serve as a closure, with the bottom two buckles closed and even rusted.
Beside them rest long boots, their expanse of leather folded at the knee where a stretchy fabric replaces the cowhide. The balls of the sole are worn, a few slices through the rubber. The toes are pointed in the fashion of the club ladies, and on the left side of the left boot has a splash of red. The entire right sole is dyed the same shade of red, but is slowly turning into a russet brown. Stretching fabric starting to fray, these boots are still the ones in a better condition.
The filter over the synthetic light switches from orange red into the soft yellow glow of the night, causing a whole new look to hit the room. Fading to their black, the walls eat the monitor, and attempt to gobble down what’s left to be seen of the desk. The kitchen, without its windows, results in a black entrance to a land never before ventured to. And the two pairs of boots, side by side, shine in the blond light.
A tanned, red-haired hand grabbed the two larger ones, shoved them on grey socked feet, and took off out the door.
Title: A Scene with No Dialogue
Rating: G
Story: Spectrum
Word Count: 524 words
Challenge: Strawberry #23: Boots
Toppings: A Cherry on Top (first piece with no Dialogue what so ever)
The orange glow of the setting artificial sun causes the black walls to appear a shade of violet. The leather couch, stained and ratty from overuse, holds a marigold-tinted pillow on its left arm. A blanket, equally as tattered, hangs haphazardly over the back. The entire scene calls for comfort.
In the far right lies a single flat-screened monitor. Whether it is a television, a computer, or some other technological advice is unable to be determined by sight alone. Just left of the machinery sits a desk, a rolling chair sitting inside the hollowed out base. On the fine oak surface lies a pair of mirrorshade goggles, gloves with orange glass covering delicate, technical devices, and a hair clip with a few strands of green-tinted platinum hair weaving through the comb.
The left of the room leads to a room that is never used. Pots and pans dangle in their holding pins. The dust collecting on them is now more than an inch thick. The stove, which has never had the fortune of being lit, is still pristine and white. The only appliance of use is the refrigerator, which has the stain of sweaty and oil palms marring its black handle.
The front of the room holds the entrance. By the black mat with the word “Welcome” stitched on in white, two pairs of boots stand beside each other. Both black and made of leather, their designs and wear stood to individualize them.
The bigger pair’s heels are almost worn away, the black turning to gray, and in some places white. Scratches decorate the sides, especially on outside, as if a very clumsy , or a very careless, person wears them. Only ankle length, the cushion circling the opening grows flat and discolored from perspiration and running. The toes, supported by steel, maintained their shape, though the silver is starting to shimmer through. Three buckles and a zipper serve as a closure, with the bottom two buckles closed and even rusted.
Beside them rest long boots, their expanse of leather folded at the knee where a stretchy fabric replaces the cowhide. The balls of the sole are worn, a few slices through the rubber. The toes are pointed in the fashion of the club ladies, and on the left side of the left boot has a splash of red. The entire right sole is dyed the same shade of red, but is slowly turning into a russet brown. Stretching fabric starting to fray, these boots are still the ones in a better condition.
The filter over the synthetic light switches from orange red into the soft yellow glow of the night, causing a whole new look to hit the room. Fading to their black, the walls eat the monitor, and attempt to gobble down what’s left to be seen of the desk. The kitchen, without its windows, results in a black entrance to a land never before ventured to. And the two pairs of boots, side by side, shine in the blond light.
A tanned, red-haired hand grabbed the two larger ones, shoved them on grey socked feet, and took off out the door.