To Kill The Giant

The ruined carpet leading down the hallway to the rooms started as a deep shag, blue in color some 40 years ago, now, stained, the stench of cigarette smoke embedded its cancer into it. Patches of it matted together, laden with dirt, compacted over the years, offering a bumpy walk.
The ends worn from tired and dirty feet trudging along its path. The smell was of covered up mold and mildew, with freshening powder.

Some of the shoes were leather, just polished that belonged to a very important businessman to dirty sneakers and loafers who were just there to visit for a while.
Wheel chairs and walkers left their mark some rubbing against the tired paneling lining the walls. The money collected in the rooms never went to update and replace the worn, dated and dirty carpet, only the rooms or what the owner deemed necessary for continued business.

Other shoes have tread the thousand of miles placed upon the carpet, to include high heels, some broken spikes as the wearers unsure of their feet mis stepped, piercing a hole into the underlayment and breaking off.

A path so worn, yet, what it led to, was what everyone who trudged along the blue brick feeling street came to see, to spend time with.
Hidden in the shadows, in each room, hung dim lights, covered in lace cloths, white sheets, double beds and behind these lace cloths, sheer window panelings were young girls.

The fancy shoes delivered them, the high heels belonged to the young girls learning to walk in them and the loafers were the johns, the henchmen, the bodyguards protecting them. When the girls were knocked to the ground or roughed up, the blue shag caught them, protecting them, breaking the fall of the innocent. Tears have been shed on the carpet, as well as sexual favors. The shag in its hey day offered a plush bedding, now, only sharp edges.

This worn carpet contains the memories, the imprints of young girls sold into a life that they did not ask for. Perhaps it was their parents so that she could earn money for them, to saudia arabian and eastern european heists of young girls to sell on the black market, a kidnapping, a robbery of innocence.

The blue carpet, like the tears of crying blue eyes, has withered and grown old with hardness and age. Once it is too old for any use, it will be replaced.