The Red Shoes

I never understood Dorothy.

You wake up some days and everything in the photocopy world is black and white. Work, commute, family, friends and all your dour surroundings. Groundhogs give you knowing nods, again, as you stand another day up at the chopping block and take a careless swipe at it.

Then, one morning, much to your surprise, the room is tossed and everything has changed. The window looks out on some strange sky that screams conspiratorially that you’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. Colours you forgot existed flit like cheap fireworks across your eye and the world pinwheels in yellow, emerald and ruby.

Everything’s adventure, even with a version of the same familiar faces you skip and dance a now familiar path and the reward is nothing less than your secret heart’s desire. Which leads you to ask, quite understandably, “Why would Dorothy ever take her heels 3 times and click herself back home?”