Running With No Shoes had been a firm favourite amongst the other members of the tribe; his light-hearted and carefree attitude setting him apart from the other, more serious elders. So when, aged 87, he had run into the woods one rainy night, no one batted an eyelid.

In fact it wasn’t until the following Thursday when someone spotted his shoes, perfectly positioned to the west upon the porch, that the village realised he hadn’t returned. The shoes have never been moved since; a mark of respect to a friend that ran barefoot and wide-eyed wherever the wind took him.


Submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers. It’s been a while since I’ve put words down on this here blog. Hopefully this will wake me up from my slumber.

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