Alex Creece | Miakoda Ohki
I glistened upon the sidewalk, fandango-pink and malleable. I was fresh with plasticity, a film of frothy saliva comfortably settling into my crevices. Its tiny bubbles tickled my elastic flesh as they popped beneath a frightful sun. I knew that dreaded thing would be my end; I would be reduced to an insipid blotch upon an otherwise clear pavement.
His long shadow, his swift footstep came out of nowhere. My viscid form was immediately taken by his touch. He did not realise that he had uprooted me from a dire fate, and I quickly eased into the indentations on the underside of his sneaker.
We made a good pair, mortal and morsel. I absorbed the entire experience, no matter the debris or dullness it graced upon my flesh, nor the dregs of myself that could cling to him no longer; viscosity lost. His gait became a familiar rhythm, pumping through me with each step. I sunk deeper into the impressions of his sole.
Until, he saw me.
Waiting at a bus stop, he idly crossed one leg over the other. His nose wrinkled as he spotted the pallid, pebble-dusted gunk on his sneaker.
Scrape. Scuff. Scour.
Fetid and fated, the sun ultimately found me; an ossified wad on the edge of a bus stop bench.