Shoes
He kicked around in an old pair of Chuck Taylors. The tongue was dirty, the laces frayed, the logo a blazing beacon in the middle of the rubble. The only reason he didn't throw them out was because of the logo. Next to these was a pair of brand new Nike pumps. They sat there like a lowrider at a red light. Where the Chuck Taylors were dark and grubby, these were loud and fluro. Again, however, without the simple swoosh on the side, they would be virtually useless. Both were retro throwbacks and bitter enemies. The wearers however were best of friends.
"Oi man, come to Highs & Lows today after school, they've got the sickest pair in today."
"Yeah, alright."
"We'll see if we can get you a proper pair of shoes."
"Man, don't diss these, they're mad."
"Yeah, I guess they're ok. But not if you're gonna meet the crew this Sat."
The Nikes strutted out of class, with the Converse trudging behind, wearily.
"10 minutes 'til the next train, man."
"Awwwww, sif be let out late."
A pair of Asics daringly danced in front of the Nikes and Converse. The pair of Con's obligingly tripped them on the way through.
"Haha, nice kicks mate."
The kid stumbled past, and mumbled something close to an apology.
"Bloody retard. What are those!?"
The boy pointed to a hyped-up pair of Adidas coming up the steps.
"Fucking Adidas."
"Dude, they're sick. Who cares about Nike."
The boy punched him, but grudgingly followed to greet the newcomer.
"Hey man, you new here?'"
"Yer, s'my first day, ay bro."
"Didn't see you at lunch times."
"True. Woah! Are those the new pumps!"
"Yer."
"They're MADE of awesome!"
"Cheers, yours aren't too shoddy either, I suppose."
His mate laughed, "Sure changed your tune. Hey, you wanna come to Highs & Lows with us?"
"Yeah, may as well."
And with that, the Adidas was accepted, standing side by side with the Nikes and Con's.
"Dude, your honest opinion; what do you think of what he's stomping around in?"
The boy pointed to the Chuck Taylors.
"Aren't they a bit Emo?"
"Oh my god! They're NOT Emo, they're punk! I hate Emo's."
"Oh, fair enough then. At least they're better than those."
He singled out a creamy pair of un-logo'd shoes, with a look of utter disgust on his face.
"Oh man. Now he's a Target kid."
The Nikes and the Con's marched forward, suddenly menacing. The Chuck Taylor's looking less Emo with every step. The pair of Adidas stood and watched.
The punk sidled around the back and kneeled behind the monstrosities.
Meanwhile;
"Hey! How's it going mate!'
'Errrr, oh hey….um, yeah I'm good.'
'That's great! How did you do in that math test?'
'Yeah, I got 98 percent.'
'Well done!'
The boy, sensing something was wrong, glanced around and saw the punk kneeling down behind him.
'Hey, what are you do-'
Instead of finishing his sentence, the kid's brain focused its attention on the rather urgent problem of how exactly his body would land. The best it could manage was awkwardly.
'HAHA! Nice shoes, dickhead!' said the punk as he got back to his feet and proceeded to low-five his accomplice.
The kid lay on his backside, with his feet in the air, scrambling to get back up. His shoelaces were tied together and in large black lettering, the word, 'TARGET' was written. The other youths gathered around laughing at the poor guy and his shoes. The bounces of the wire, signifying the arrival of the train, danced in front of the mob. They quickly broke up and prepared to enter the train. The boy was still struggling to get up because of the weight of his backpack.
'Let me help you with that,' said the boy with the Adidas.
He ripped the bag off the poor boy, and threw it on the train going the other way. The other two laughed.
'Let's go man.'
But the Adidas hadn't finished.
'Do you want to see what a real pair of shoes looks like?'
The upset boy had gone hysterical.
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"This is a shoe.'
The last the boy saw was an extreme close up of the Adidas logo, and then blackness.
