Barefoot to Johnny's

Contributor: JC Piech

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Her eyes try and fail to focus on the pair of spectacles that sprawl, all cracked glass and twisted metal, on the coffee table. She gives up and looks down at the beige and brown carpet instead. It needs vacuuming; she can feel little bits on the soles of her bare feet. Sticky little bits. Like they’re trying to keep her here.
“Look at me, bitch,” he says, his voice hoarse from too much cussing and too much smoking.
“Maybe ah wud if ah cud see!” Her voice quivers.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, “d’ya always hafta fuckin’ cry at evrythang? S’only a pair o’ glasses.”
No, it ain’t jus’ a pair o’ glasses! You end up breakin’ evrythang. When’re you gonna stop havin’ your li’l boy tantrums ‘n start actin’ like a man? A real man? Like Johnny… Yeah, that’s right, ya heard me. Ah’m in love with Johnny ‘n ah’m leavin’ your sorry ass. He’s somethin’ o’ mine you won’t never get to break. He’s bigger ‘n stronger than you, ‘n he’s even more pissed about what you’ve dun t’me than ah am…” she thinks to herself as she hangs her head, watching tears drop out of focus onto the dirty carpet. She loved those spectacles. “Th’ only reason Johnny ain’t already gutted you like a slimy li’l fish,” she thinks, “is cause I told him not to. Well… its full moon tonight ‘n I’m done tellin’ him to hold back. When that moonlight shines on him ah'm not sure he even can.”
For the first time in her life she feels strong enough to leave. She stands up and heads for the door. Outside, the sun has baked the ground dry and hard and cracked. She doesn’t need shoes: Johnny lives just two doors down the dirt track. She’s not going to waste time packing bags, Johnny can buy her some new shoes and some new dresses.
“It’s about damn time ah had sumthin’ new t’ wear,” she thinks as she opens the door. “Maybe a bright red dress for th’ summer, t’ sit out in Johnny’s backyard in. And a pair o’ heels to match, for his little werepups to run around at. And a new pair o' spectacles too."
“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” says her husband, a man made up of hair and short temper. He’s the only thing of hers that hasn't been broken. Yet.
Heading out into the last of the days sun and turning her bare heels on him, she says, “Why don’t ya follow me ‘n find out?”

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JC Piech lives in south-east England with her lovely and patient husband, and her writing forms a pretty mixed bag. Perhaps it’s because she’s a Gemini? Or perhaps she’s just a weirdo.
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