Note: This weeks prompt was a pair of tiny feet. Less than two inches and sculpted by our member and artist Carol Taylor.

      A new guy in town was talking about an experience he ran across while out hunting. He noticed foot prints in the dirt. What was unusual was the fact the prints looked human; but there were 5 small toes and one large to extending upward. He came across this rare species that had a lot of ‘apeish’ features, but was able to communicate in any language.

      It was noticeable, that when this creature spoke and  it was telling a lie, the large toe would lift upwards and stay extended until it was another person’s turn to talk. Where did it come from? Another planet or galaxy? Maybe a left over from the Stone Age, and had somehow got an education. Possibly, this being channeled information.
It was difficult to hold a conversation, as you kept staring at the big toe to see how it was responding.
The possibility of some mutant form of life entered my mind, as the man was talking about this.
Maybe it was made up and we were all being suckered in to a practical joke. Even though the tiny feet did look real, the fact that we live in an age where anything is possible; or can look possible, even if it is not.
The man had made a mold of these feet and it was up to everyone to determine what the true story was.
By Shirley Lentz

*****

I followed the foot prints past the corner and out into the woods.

Charlie caught up to me and wanted to know what I was doing

“I’m following these foot prints.” I said

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, who around here would come sneaking around my bedroom window with bare feet in a foot of snow?”

“Whoa, they are bare aren’t they?”

“Yes, and did you see anything else different?” I asked

“No!” Isn’t bare foot enough?”

“Count the toes.” I said.

“What?”

“Just count the toes.”

“One, two three, rout, five, six, six!” Charlie counted two more times. “Both feet have six toes!”

“And,” I said,” look how big they are.

“I think I might be following Big Foot.”

“Big Foot!” he cried, “no way. He is not real.”

“Well, let’s follow and see what we fine’”

Thirty minutes later, we heard a rustling in the trees. Low angry growls that made the hair rise on our arms and shivers run up our backs.

We inched forward, quietly, so we thought.

A sudden rustle, a deep growl, the bushed parted and we stepped back in fear, as out stepped Joe. Huge fake feet covered his shoes.

“Gotcha!” he yelled and ran away as fast as the fake feet would carry him before we could catch up and render our revenge.

By Mary Hanley

*****

He loved it when she massaged his feet. The nerves in his feet seemed to send

messages directly to his whole body, his back, his shoulders, his arms. It

was the perfect way for her to settle him down after a stressful golf game.

She called it a micro massage, saying it was easy for her to sit down with his

ankles on her knees and push and pull and squeeze his feet and toes. He was a

very big man and he had seen that it was hard work for her to massage his

shoulders and back, leaving her looking flushed and exhausted. She had told

him that she enjoyed giving him a foot massage, it even relaxed and amused

her, looking at those odd toes of his, bent every which way. He had credited

the look of his feet to the hand-me-down shoes he grew up in. Their wedding

anniversary was Valentines day, only three days away – what could he give

her? A walk through a local craft market had solved his problem. He found

nestled into a tiny heart-shaped velvet-lined box, two miniature feet, no more

than two inches long. He believed that the little feet, with six toes on each

foot, the big toes arched up in saucy disregard, would also amuse her, and

give her enjoyment of holding a part of him, given from his heart.

By Lorraine Wait