Aesthetic Perfection

For this week, I thought I'd post a little bit of a new story. It's called "Aesthetic Perfection" (obviously) and you'll have to read it to know what it's about. Here is a short excerpt. If you'd like to read more, you'll just have to comment and tell me!

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I don’t have normal dreams.

Some people dream of riches, the ability to provide for family, or just their own materialistic tendencies.

Some dream of becoming famous, known even to those who don’t know them.

Some dream of the perfect life, where everything they’ve ever wanted they can finally have, however frivolous it all really is.

I dream of feet.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved looking at them. At the various geometric shapes that make up the innumerable pairs of feet all over the world. I see them everywhere, even hidden by shoes. Some people aren’t so withholding. Sandals are my very favorite type of shoe, because they let show as much as they can while still covering the bottom, the most sensitive part.

My partialism for feet inspired me to create art, and finally, I have an exhibit, something to show the world how beautiful and mesmerizing feet are. People discount feet because they think they are gross, or simply because they’re not what a person sees first. But they’re what I see first and I want to show the intricacies and captivating qualities that I see in feet. And I feel I do, with my sculptures. They are all made in the same fashion. I had created a sculpture of two feet cut off about five inches after the ankle. Each piece was organized in a different way, some running, some standing still, others with one heel planted to the base of the sculpture and the other lifted, as if expectant, as if ready to bolt at the slightest notice.

As I walk among those who have come to admire my work and analyze it as people tend to do, I listen as they speculate as to the subject of my work.

“As you can see here, ‘Lisa’ is running from an abusive husband. See how her left foot is turned a little inward?” The woman pointed, careful not to get too close. She was the type who looked for symbolism in everything. Which was fine. That meant she saw what others may have missed. “She looked behind her as she ran, making sure he wouldn’t catch up. Such talent, to capture the inner mind with just her feet…”

I met Lisa at the beach, and although I despise the beach for obscuring my view with its salty, murky water and sand that clings to wet objects, it is the best place to go during the summer. People generally walk around without wearing any shoes. I was strolling along the edge of the water where kids ran around playing in the sand, barefoot. Suddenly I spied the most amazing toes, painted a light pink color, obviously done professionally. From the toes I moved up to the delicate curve of the arch that made a very long and lazy “c.” I let my gaze drift to the ankle, not forgetting to linger a while on the soft tan of the top of the foot, and the smoothness of the skin there. When I reached the ankle, I looked up into the face of the woman who owned the feet, because what did I care about anything in between? It was her feet that captured me. Her feet that made me wonder, could there be anything so perfect in all the world?