The older man shakes his head, disgusted at the school's bad hygiene, and he lifts one finely polished shoe high over you with a stern look over his face.
You try to run, but your legs have turned to jelly and they fall from under you. You kneel there, propped unsteadily on your knees, waving your arms around and screaming in terror as the monstrosity of a business shoe comes down over you, cutting off all of your light.
"No, Mister!! Please! I'm just a kid! Don't crush me!! No!!!!" The sharp heel, polished to perfection, glints as it approaches you, then the thick outsole forces your upper body to lie back, flat on your own legs. Now you can see the fine lines and scratches on the bottom of the the wealthy man's shoe, and you feel your skeleton creak like a bending twig.
First your pelvis cracks, then you fall back against your dead legs, then your ribs creak, then a series of cracks and crunches follow you into darkness..
* * *
Mr Garcia 'tsks' with his tongue, wiping his expensive shoe on the filthy carpet. He'll have to reprimand the school about their lack of attention to sanitation. He goes home right away and hands his shoes to a newly-hired house servant, who's really coming in handy for situations like this.
"Charles, have these cleaned and polished immediately." he says in disgust, sitting down on his bed.
"Right away, Sir!" the nervous young man hurriedly removes his boss's shoes and delicately carries them into the other room, to scrub away that despicable red mark.
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