My Worn Shoes

--Entry for the writing prompt competition--
Hello! I don't really have a name, but I like to call myself Sam. I am very nice, especially compared to some of my friends, and this should be a normal day for someone like me, except for the fact that it isn't.


2. One

I sit at the corner of my owner's bed. I see her toss back and forth, and I know that today's adventure is close at hand. She stretches out her thin limbs and lags her legs off the side of the bed. I see her get some pink socks. Good, I think, my smell won't be a problem today. I vividly remember the last time she neglected to wear socks. Her cold feet sat and sweat on my fine leather, but I don't mind, as long as she, or her mother, sprays me with that good smelling mist.

She places two of her small fingers in my two sections and puts me on the bed. I savor the way that the cushions envelope my body. I never get to go on the furniture because, according to Father, it is impolite. She wipes away at a smudge on my creamy skin before placing my left section on and later my right. Then she laces me up nice and tight. 

I love the way my rubber soles grip the wooden floor as she runs outside. It feels much different than mud, asphalt, sand, or even regular dirt.

I feel it before I see it: the dirt has been turned to mud. I always listen very closely for rain, but I didn't hear it last night. I brace myself as the mud splashes up against my creamy skin, and the water soaks me to my core.  

I feel her wiggle her toes with her soggy socks. It is a strange sensation, really.

We finally emerge out of the puddles and mud onto a harder surface. This is when she starts to run. It, eventually, feels like a constant pounding, but before I can complain too harshly we are at her destination; I can tell by her slowed pace. Shen then runs, jumps, and climbs along brightly colored plastics that I haven't seen before.

"I love the park," I hear her whisper. That is what this place is called. 

Sooner than I'd like, she slowly goes away from the park an heads back into the mud. By the time we get back to the house, I can feel the hardened dirt on my skin, and it is not a pleasant feeling. She kicks me off by the door this time and runs back into her room.

A considerable time later, Mother picks me up and, with a wet towel, makes me clean again. While she is holding me, I catch a glimpse out the window and see the sun has almost set. She moves quietly because she is asleep, and gently places me at the corner of her bed. She shuts the door, and I anticipate tomorrow's adventure.

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