Word: Flip Flops
Genre: Dark Comedy
They were always within easy reach of my mother’s hand. No matter where she was, even though she wouldn’t be wearing them, they were always reachable.
I’m talking about those battered, once favourite, rubber and plastic foot attire. The ones where the toe separator has popped out, and though you push it back through the hole in the sole, it still pops right back out.
Not that you’d want to touch the sole, as it still has the indented remnants of your mother’s feet permanently ingrained upon them.
For years they tortured your hearing, the *thwack-thwack* as they slapped against the underside of her feet as she walked, then they filled you with fear if you so much as said a wrong word or misbehaved.
For something so light weight an un aerodynamic, they could be hurled with amazing accuracy to bounce off the back of your head when you weren’t looking, and heaven forbid you were close enough to be caught.
No amount of padding could numb the pain of those slabs of rubber being brought down with force upon young spungey naked ass cheeks.