It occurred to Andrea that there were certainly worse last sights a city could see before it was obliterated than the bottom of her foot. After all, she took good care of herself. Frequent visits to the spa, as often as she could afford, to pamper her toes and moisturize her instep and heel with soothing lotions. Surely the vision of her wrinkled peach sole becoming the new sky for all of New York was a ravishing, if not unusual experience? She allowed them to savor the vista just a little longer. Rather than set her toes down, as she’d been planning, Andrea’s finger released its grip on the thong of her left flip-flop.
The bubble-gum rubber footwear the size of Manhattan Island plummeted end-over-end. It fluttered in torrential winds which surely bestowed tornados on distant lands, and came to a landing at the very edge of the city. The thick, squishy platform of the falling flip-flop smashed instantly through multiple miles of docks and coastal industry, taking out entire fleets of shipping vessels in the process. It slid back into the Atlantic. Waters rushed through dozens of city blocks directly surrounding the carnage, washing many buildings back toward the ocean and the waiting zigzag rivets of Andrea’s floating flip-flop.
“My bad, guys. I was just getting sick of carrying my shoes everywhere,” Andrea apologized half-heartedly. Stretching her arm out, she let go of the other shoe, which followed suit of its twin: the deadly pink oval of it crashed mercilessly into the opposite docking tip of the island, and came to rest back in the ocean. Now each of the young woman’s simple, sexy shoes were discarded on opposite ends of the city, weighing down the fragile rock foundations of the coast.
The earth creaked audibly from the shifting pressure upon its crust. Andrea laughed again, hands on her hips, and observed the city now flanked by her footwear, with nowhere else to look but her seventy-mile goddess form. As her ankle was growing tired from holding in air above the city, she at last allowed herself a break, and spread her toes wide apart to set them down.
Square half-miles of urban sprawl were instantly pulverized under the five heavenly meteor-like globes of Andrea’s toes. Entire buildings ripped asunder by the shifting, gritty pattern of her toeprints and skin cells. Canyons of tanned flesh were instantly formed, darkening the streets below, and stacking higher even than the skyscrapers themselves.
“Ooohh… that feels a lot better!” Andrea cooed. She scrunched her toes together, closing the plush gaps of tan skin and grinding those silky digits down into the shattered earth. In a flash, whole districts of the city were eaten up into the compressing crevices of the eighteen-year-old’s divine digits. Those buildings and citizens which missed the initial, crushing onslaught of her foot were left to drown in the crystal-clear liquid still plunking from her spongy skin, composed of half-ocean water and half-summer sweat from her skin.
Next Andrea laid the ball of her foot down upon New York City. The rotund, lunar shape of it crowned the untouched urban scape south of her murderous toes. A thousand-foot crater lurched into the Earth beneath the crushing pressure of her twisting leg. Some buildings were spared in the plush, river-like wrinkles of her sole, but those skyscrapers which weren’t so lucky liquefied down to the level of bottom soil in a single step. Subway tunnels and sewers cracked like tube straws and collapsed into the compacted graveyard of the city. Then, at last, came the sole.
Andrea sighed luxuriously as she rubbed her foot across the remaining unmolested landscape of America’s great city. She savored the smearing of entire city blocks across her skin like a lotion of stone and blood. The ticklish carnage of tumbling office parks and cracked streets caressed the tender arched flesh of her toe crevices. Earth itself seemed to groan and buckle beneath Andrea’s sole as she pressed herself out of the ocean floor with her opposite foot, flexed and swollen, until her whole seventy-mile body weight was concentrated into the very heart of Manhattan.
The girl spread her stately arms wide, her balletic fingers pointed toward the sky as she sculpted herself into her best yoga pose. Her chest puffed up and her willowy back arched. With one upturned sole still spilling a thousand mighty waterfalls of ocean water down upon New York’s remains, the other foot crunched deeper upon the island until the entire flip-flop-sized landmass was submerged in rushing water like the lost Atlantis.
She smiled. Brief a visit though it had been, she didn’t have a single regret in stopping by the Itsy Bitsy Tiny Apple. With this latest conquest complete, Andrea couldn’t help but let her gaze drift to the horizon and the countless other civilizations which awaited their goddess and her “blessing.”