Barefoot and Mindless

The AC hummed loudly in the cramped antique shop. Dust motes danced in the single sunbeam cutting through the grimy front window. Behind a cluttered glass counter, Mrs. Gable adjusted her thick spectacles, peering at a chipped porcelain doll. Her fingers, knobby with age, traced a crack along its cheek. Michelle nudged me, pointing to a velvet-lined tray near the register.

"Check that out, dude. Looks like something a pirate queen would lose."

Nestled among dull brass buttons and a tarnished locket lay a single ring. Its band was thick, wrought iron darkened almost black, but the stone… the stone was unnatural. A deep, pulsing green, like bottled swamp light. It seemed to swallow the weak overhead bulb's glare.

Mrs. Gable shuffled over, her gaze lingering on the ring.

"Ah," she murmured, her voice raspy. "The Verdant Band. Found near Stonehenge, they say. Passed through many hands. Always grants the owners deepest wish… eventually."

She chuckled, a dry sound like rustling leaves.

"Comes with a price, naturally. Magic always does." Michelle snorted softly, rolling her eyes.

She decided she wanted the ring, but her wallet was empty. So as per usual, I ended up forking out the cash to buy the ring.

Back at my apartment, Michelle flopped onto the worn sofa, kicking off her sneakers without a thought.

"Let me see that weird thing again," she demanded, holding out her hand. "If it grants the owner their wish, I should start by wishing for a million dollars."

I dropped the cool metal into her palm. She slid the ring onto her middle finger. As her fingers curled around it, her expression shifted.

"I wish for.... a milliooonnnn..... dolllllllaaaarsss....."

The playful sparkle in her dark eyes dulled, replaced by a vacant, serene blankness. The green stone flared, a brief, sickly pulse. Then she just… stopped. Frozen mid-motion, staring straight ahead at nothing. A slow, unnerving smile spread across her face. Her eyes glowed the same green as the ring. Her voice, when it came, was flat, toneless, yet utterly certain: "I am barefoot and mindless." Her feet, resting on the floor, suddenly seemed impossibly captivating.

What did she say? Barefoot and mindless? Michelle had her suspicions about my foot fetish, but other than the occasional tease of seeing her barefoot, she'd never let me indulge it. This couldn't be a joke. Maybe the ring was magic, but if so, why didn't it grant Michelle's wish when she put it on. As I walked closer to inspect Michelle, I heard the crinkle of a receipt in your pocket. The receipt! I had paid for the ring, I was the owner and now it seems the ring had turned Michelle into my obedient foot puppet.

"Michelle," I said, my own voice sounding thick and strange in the sudden stillness. "Sit up straight." She obeyed instantly. Her eyes remained unfocused, staring through me. "Rub your soles," I continued, the words catching slightly in my throat, "on my chest. And my face." Without hesitation, without a flicker of expression, she lifted one foot. The warm, smooth arch pressed against my sternum through my thin t-shirt. I leaned forward, closing my eyes as the other foot rose, the slightly rough pad of her heel brushing my cheekbone. The scent of clean skin and faded lavender lotion filled my senses. She began a slow, rhythmic motion, moving her feet deliberately against my chest and face. The hypnotic pressure was overwhelming.

Her movements were precise, and methodical. No trace of the playful Michelle remained in those vacant eyes. Only the chant echoed softly in the quiet room, a low murmur beneath the scrape of skin on fabric and skin. "I am barefoot and mindless." Each pass of her sole over my face felt electric, charged by the unnatural stillness and the ring’s sickly green glow on her finger. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic counterpoint to her deliberate, hypnotic strokes. The intimacy was terrifying, exhilarating, utterly detached from the friend I knew.

A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. Her big toe nudged my chin, tilting my head back. The arch of her foot pressed flat against my forehead, warm and heavy. Her other foot continued its slow sweep across my chest. Her breathing remained unnervingly steady, shallow. Mine came in ragged gasps. The ring pulsed faintly, a dull emerald heartbeat. Was it feeding on this? On her? The thought sliced through the haze of desire – a cold spike of unease. I looked at her face, but she was miles away, locked behind those dull eyes. The chant looped, a broken record reinforcing her emptiness. "I am barefoot and mindless."

The rhythmic pressure faltered for a second. Her foot slid off my face. Michelle’s head tilted slightly, a faint tremor running through her outstretched leg. Was it fatigue? Or something else? A flicker? Deep within the vacant stare, buried beneath layers of unnatural calm, something seemed to strain. Her mouth opened slightly, wider than necessary for the chant. For a breathless second, the rhythmic murmur stopped. Silence crashed in. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming a shape that wasn't the familiar words. Then, as if an invisible switch flipped, the tremor vanished. Her foot lifted again, pressing firmly back against my jaw. The chant resumed, flat and certain once more: "I am barefoot and mindless."

My thoughts raced. "What else could I make her do with those feet?"

To be continued?