SHOOOEEEESSSSZZZZ

“My weekend?  Sweet of you to ask.  Dinner Friday, shoe shopping all Saturday.  I love shoes, I have quite the collection” Monica crammed her lunch box into the office fridge.  As she did so, a carton of milk toppled from the top shelf and fell onto the floor.

The cleaner eyed it in dismay, she’d just finished, now she’d have to start again, the milk was running everywhere.  Teach her a lesson for asking the office manager how her weekend was.

Monica continued regardless; “I do love Louboutins, don’t you?”
“I prefer Irregular Choice, but I’d be lucky to own a pair of those,” the cleaner answered, mopping up in efficient movements, gypsy hair concealing her disgusted expression.
“They’re the cheap funky ones, aren’t they? I own a pair of Loubies, they’re the best!”
The cleaner hesitated, then said; “I heard nataS did the best, most expensive shoes.”
“nataS?  Haven’t heard of them,” Monica’s face darkened, “do you have a pair?”
“Only special people can own nataS.  Indeed, most people say that nataS owns them.”
 

The conversation preyed on Monica’s mind all day.  She couldn’t find any reference to nataS on the internet, luckily the cleaner directed her to a boutique that sold them.  When she stared into the window, ignoring the Big Issue seller nearby, she realised she’d found her new Mecca.  Shoes of all colours and persuasions; platforms, wedges, courts, boots and a beautiful pair of red heels, bejewelled with what looked like diamonds.  To.  Die.  For.  “Mon Mon gotta have,” she breathed, a bit of drool smudging her lipstick.  She dived into the shop; “Mon Mon gotta have!” she repeated desperately to the blonde assistant.

“Well of course,” the assistant replied smiling and brought the very shoes from the window.
“How did you know it was those?” Monica asked.
“I could hear them calling out to you!” the assistant laughed, “you’ll find they’re your size.”
They fitted perfectly and, like the best designer shoes were easy to walk in.  The price was astronomical, even more expensive than Loubies, but Mon Mon gotta have and Mon Mon decided to meet her friends in the coffee shop wearing them.
She walked out of the shop with a cheery goodbye and tried to turn right, back into town, but her feet turned left and she started marching the wrong way.  “Oh!  Help!” cried Monica, but only the Big Issue salesperson heard and having been ignored earlier, wasn’t inclined to help.  On down the street the shoes took Monica, then another left turn, into a dark narrow street.
Leaning against the wall was the cleaner from work.  Monica nearly cried out in relief; “Oh!  Won’t you help me!  The most stupid thing is happening ...!” she began.
The cleaner simply laughed; “Like I said, nataS owns you!” she mocked.
On went Monica, the alley became constricted, the shoes stopped outside a door.  Hoping there would be someone beyond it to help, Monica pushed it open, the shoes walked her inside; “Help me!” cried Monica.
"Up here!” called some voices, “through this door.”
The shoes let her run up the stairs, allowed her barge through the entrance, then all of a sudden she was pitched forwards, she fell on her front, grazing her hands and turned to see the shoes walk by themselves out of the door, which slammed shut behind them.  In front of her were a row of scared looking faces, women like herself wearing the best designer clothes, all with bare feet.
“Welcome,” said one of them, “to the human collection.”