Orientation

The ground beneath my feet is on fire.

Why am I not wearing shoes? I always wear shoes in the winter--I hate having cold toes. Somehow, the bite of the undertrodden concrete cuts through the numbed soles of my feet. I feel as though I'm trapped by the frigidity, but I've never really been a claustrophobic person. There's nothing wrong with enclosed spaces. To me, they are just another layer of clothing: something to be close to.

The sun beats down, mercilessly. Oh, how I wish I could shed that extra layer of claustrophobia. I feel as though my neck, my back, are salivating--somehow appetized by these completely empty streets, these windows full of winking mannequins. But my mouth--my mouth is so dry. Why can my mouth not sweat? Everything else is. I know what I need: an apple. That would cure the thirst, would it not? It could cool me down, too. All the snow must have melted.

My shoes are soaking through with sweat. Why am I wearing shoes? I never wear shoes in the summer.

A drop of perspiration enters my eye; I blink it out, but the moment is gone, the thought has passed. I hide my hands in the pockets of my coat, protecting them from the condescending glare of this damn sun. It's everywhere--I remember why I came here. To get away from that damn sun. My hair plasters itself to my forehead like a child's attempt at paper-mache. Everyone around me is wearing red. I know what I need--an apple. 

All the windows around me are filled with strangely casual customers, while all those traversing the street refuse to move. Who would take the time to make this many mannequins? There are immobile lines bleeding from the doors of every store in sight. I get in line--to hide from the sun. Or maybe to get an apple. Some shoes would be nice, also. 

The man behind behind me drinks his coffee.

It's almost midnight--who drinks coffee at this time of day?

He's wearing shoes. Maybe he knows where I can get an apple. God, why won't this damn sun stop following me?

Author's Note

I think this actually counts as a short story, unlike my first attempt. Thoughts?

Reviews

[...]

I haven't read your first attempt yet.

I think this is amazingly well written poetic prose. It's very vivid and intriguing.

Sometimes, there are things that just don't stop following us no matter where we go--like the sun. Sometimes, we don't stop following things--like the apple.

[Blue Moon Ice Cream]

This was an intriguing story. It really captivated me because I wanted to understand what was going on. I have a few ideas on what it could mean, but it's still somewhat of a puzzle. I like the style, though, and the way that a few thoughts are repeated (the apple, shoes). The tone was amazingly consistent, too.

[Judy Ponceby]

Fascinating images, provoking thoughts of needs and bewildering emotions. Care to explain this to one of the less bright crayons in the box?

[Poeticadia]

Love the style... it has a wonderful sense of disorientation and discomfort. I particularly like the way the narrative is held together with obessively recurring threads.

[Hello, Goodbye]

great stuff man..

[FJ Davis]

This is tragic and hilarious, at the same time. The shoe-shoeless, winter-summer, day-night, empty-crowded, recurring apple yen--among other clever contrasts, perceptions and gimmicks--in and of themselves--make this a brilliant piece of flash fiction.
Other than the subject's obvious disorientation, however, and a few theories, I'm not completely sure what's going on--which, by the way, only adds to your story's appeal.
Answers? Global warming come to fruition? But, why the hell is everybody wearing red?--if they actually are. Your diabolical work has put me in need of orientation.