The Little Shoemaker
One sunny day in Marseille, on a quiet street, was a shoe shop. At the front was a large, arched window. Just above the window was a sign saying, Cordonnerie, which means shoe shop. There was an old, brown, wooden door with a bedazzling, golden door knob next to the window. From the footpath, you could see a display of high class boots, classy high heels and upscale ballet flats. All of the different types of shoes sat there waiting to be bought and put to good use. Inside the shop, was a stumpy,middle aged man named Mr Botte. He had large, square ,misshapen glasses and a small, bushy brown moustache. The front part of Mr Botte’s hair stuck up like a Mohawk. He had a blue shirt on with brown overalls on the top. The shopkeeper liked making shoes for others. He had bought this place 13 years ago and now he was 43 years old. He always made sure his outstanding footwear were perfectly polished and dusted before being put out on show.
Mr Botte was dusting the shoes at the front window when a young lady elegantly strutted passed. She wore a mustard yellow, knee length dress with miniature, white polka dots spread all over it. A tight ,apricot coloured sash circled around her waist. She had a bright yellow bow on the front of her dress at the top. Her hair was a reddish brown colour tied neatly into a round, broad bun. She had large eyes that were a dazzling emerald green. The women stopped immediately. She stood and stared at the gorgeous, sparkly, glossy red high heels that stood in the front of the window. The shoes had a light pink ,pretty bow on the front . Mr Botte offered them to the lady. She clapped her hands and felt ecstatic and bemused. The lady was about to buy the footwear when a loud, noisy vehicle parked in the street.
An old, vintage van stopped in front of the shoe shop. The van was red and brown and was an L shape. Then a tall man wearing a black suit, a red bow tie and a black top hat with a silver stripe, placed his foot on to a golden retractable step then on to the concrete. The man had gingerish hair that stretched all the way down to just before the tip of his long, extended chin to form a beard. He had a very long nose. Then he waved his black cane in the air and poof….rows and rows of fancy high heel boots popped out from the van. The lady dashed over to the cart and stared at the shoes. The woman got offered the shoes but she didn’t want them. Mr Botte rung a bell many times and the lady peered back and slowly walked over. But then the competitor made the price of his shoes drop. Mr Botte hung his head in sorrow and trampled inside because his customer had just bought shoes from the man in the van.
That night Mr Botte stayed up making a pair of new shoes to compete against the man. His shoes bounced around excitedly waiting for him to finish the new shoe. He finally completed the shoe very late at night that all his other shoes had fallen asleep. Feeling proud of himself, the next morning Mr Botte stood in front of the shop presenting his new sneakers to his competitor. However the man in the van produced an even better pairs of sneakers and Mr Botte was surprised.
Mr Botte stood outside every day with a sales sign on himself at the same time ringing a large,golden bell. He kept dropping his price until he got to a high percent of 95% off but still no one bought one pair of his shoes. Day by day Mr Botte would lose a dollar. By the end of the week Mr Botte had not a single penny left.
That night Mr Botte stood at the cash register ashamed just looking at the empty money till that was supposed to be full.It was lightless and depressing inside the shop apart from the small lamp giving some light into the desk area. Suddenly a gentle breeze could be felt and a piece of paper had drifted through the mail slot on the door carefully landing on the hard wooden floor. Mr Botte looked through the door window to see his nemesis’s head pop up with a mean look on his face, then his enemy quickly scuttled into the dark, dreary and starry night. Mr Botte picked up the thin slice of paper and stared, it was a contract to sell his whole life's work to his opponent. All was silent, there was no one here apart from him and some of his shoes. He put the contract on the desk and grabbed a pen out of his pocket,he almost signed when his shoes nosed in to see what was going on. It was almost like the footwear could feel his sadness of losing the shop,so they came up with a plan. They hopped up to him with a cylinder tin of gold paint and some long shoes pointed shoes fit for a man like his adversary.
The next morning Mr Botte trotted outside to his rival and confidently gave the contract and the box with pair of gold shoes in them. The man in the van snatched the paper and the box off Mr Botte. He looked at the paper with delight then he peeked inside the box then slammed it shut what a surprise thought the very tall man. He then took the shoes out of the box to try them on whilst that happened Mr Botte tardily walked back to his shop when he heard some squeaking of shoes he turned around and saw that his shoes had taken control of the man in the van altogether. The man in the van started doing the splits and dancing around then the shoes made him run ,down the street, never to be seen again. The contract had slipped out from the enemy’s hand and glided all the way into Mr Bottes hands. Mr Botte then ripped up the contract gleefully then leaving it on the ground.
Mr Botte strolled back into his shop and started to dust his front window shoes again when screech another shoe van parked beside his shop. Then Mr Botte clenched his fist and was ready for another war.
