One Breath Short Of Breathing

Chapter One

There once was an old lady who lived in a shoe. Notice how I said once. There once was an old lady. Now, there is a shoe and the remains of an old lady. A broken mirror lay upon the ground. Scattered pieces of glass strewn all over the musty brown Carpet. 

A smashed photo frame held in the hands of one who might have left this place. But now the frame holds a new resident banging from the inside to be let out. Several similar personnel lie within. Little do they they know that they won't ever breathe again.

Every few years someone queries about what happened to the nice, little, old lady who lived next door. Those people get disposed of in a similar fashion. Their deaths blamed on stress or natural causes.
No one suspects me.
Not yet anyway.
One day I may leave clues for those interested and then remove them also, just for a bit of "harmless" fun.

Who am I ? You may ask.
Well that's a story for another day. In time you may see that what I do is not all bad. Sometimes I even help people! Help people realise that living freely is not all its cracked up to be.
Sure you get to make your own decisions and have opinions and what not, but no one ever warns about the dangers of being able to do what you want.

So I keep on trapping those who try to change anything about my little world. My world inside of an old shoe.

Now the shoe holds much significance to the story. The shoe holds the fine line between freedom and captivity. If someone inside breaks or alters the line, they must be trapped, for their own safety of course. But mostly for mine.

The shoe also contains many children. I guess you already would have known that if you heard the rhyme before.

But these children are no ordinary children.

For these children hold great power.

And just so you continue to hear the tale I must withhold that information until the time is right for me to reveal it.
It is classified after all.

While the old ladies "care" for these children they often do things that displease me.
When they arrive they all appear lovely and hospitable, although within the first week, all of them break some of my very, strict rules.

The first old lady, I guess you could call her the original, was Pandora Pipsworth. She was frail but had a great sense of humour. Although since her humour was, as they say, aimed at me, I did what I had to.
An old photograph became a holding centre for those not quite dead. She was surprised by the least to find herself encased in paper and plastic.

The "death" of Pandora went unnoticed for sometime until the applications were sent out. Applications for what your ignorant mind is probably scratching it's head trying to figure out.
The applications for a new, old lady to occupy the shoe.

Since old lady #1 was so frail, everyone wrote her death off as "her time to go". Which suited me very well.

The children, they are just kids, didn't think anything of it either. Kids only ever notice things that suit them, so the removal of a dictatorial force didn't register in the puny brains as irregular.

Dictatorial is a harsh word, but fitting to the attributes of that festering joke. Apparently I was worth all the snide comments and "humorous" statements. Some of which true, but heavily exaggerated. Perhaps I do have control issues but the running system would collapse without it.
Her high appraisal of herself frustrated me immensely further adding to the growing list of things against her. Complete with her own control issues.

These ladies get five strikes. Normally, yes, people only get three. But this job is a special case. There are seven elements in which the children need from the old lady caretakers. Although the place runs effectively with only three.  So the strike system, increased in numbers. Generous I know.