. .prosodic arson. . . . . . .(header pic tribute to Zilon).

My story has often been brushed aside as being contrived or impossible. Some say it must have been staged, merely a trick made up of smoke and mirrors, others say an exaggeration, but I know it’s true. They weren’t there to see it first hand. That day, that very moment, I had the luck of a thousand white elephants.

It came as a surprise to me that she would be angry when I bought the wrong sized pair of shoes, hurling them out the window yelling, “Six years and you still can’t get it right you bloody imbecile!”
When I ran out of her flat to retrieve the box I was hardly paying any attention to traffic when it happened: I remember loud cautionary horns, the whine of breaks and the screech of tires, then silence and darkness. When I came to I saw what can only be described as devastation. Great heaps of metal that were once vehicles contorted in every direction, shards of orange, red and white all about my feet and fire dancing all around me like devils taunting my faith.
The headlines in the newspaper the next morning read, “Pedestrian unscathed amidst 14 car pile up. All motorists dead.”
I’ll never forget the bitter aftertaste of utter shock left in my mouth when I found myself standing in wreckage with certain death no less than a centimeter away. To this day I question my life, my significance. Why spare me?
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250 word short story for York film portfolio
requirements:
-something wild
-a pair of shoes,
-a surprize
-a tatse