The Unwanted Shoe
As I lie on the dumpster
I can't believe how quickly I've been worthless to my master. He wore me to all the colorful ceremonies the other day, and I felt valuable and valued. How quickly did I lose my worth? How short and simple was it for me to replace? I assumed we shared a personal bond. I kept his feet warm and shielded them from the rough and sandy tracks. I never imagined the day would come when he would deem me worthless and toss me into the filthy dumpster. As I lay here, waiting for the truck to offer me my last journey to my resting place, I cannot help but remember the first time we met with my master, my wearer.
Early last year
I left the shoe factory, feeling energized and smelling very fresh. The plant attendants placed us in boxes making it impossible for us to know our final destination. After a few days in darkness, they set me in a display glass at the shop. The view was good. In a few days, I started getting lonely. People came and bought my friends at the store, and I remained without company. It was not long before my owner arrived in a torn out pair of shoes with the sole bending on one side. I fitted him perfectly. It must have been love at first sight because he opted to go back home with me covering his legs. I was happy to leave the shop. It felt nice covering his legs, and the smile on his face showed me that it was the beginning of a very long and faithful friendship.
I was his best shoe
I would accompany him to all the beautiful places. I recall going to watch football, riding with him in the car as well as the numerous photos he took with me. The relationship was smooth. He would wash me after every trip and place me on the rack. I felt valued and happy; little did I know the fate of our relationship. In the rack, a new pair of shoes joined me. I felt jealous because I was never his favorite. The number of times he required my attention reduced. What had I done wrong? Looking at myself, I was not as attractive as the first time I left the factory. I could tell that our relationship was heading to a bad end. During the time, he no longer washed me after a long day in the dust.
After returning home
he threw me on the cold floor where I stayed until the following day. My happy days were over. It has now been a week since he wore me. I have been sleeping on the cold floor with my replacements enjoying the warmth of the rack, which was my previous home. My body is no longer strong and the threads joining my body are loosening up. Today in the morning, he threw me in the trash. The house manager placed me in the polythene bag and threw me in the dumpster. What happened to the original care they gave me? My fate is sealed; my sorrows cannot change the inevitable. The beeping sound of the truck as it reverses to pick us up the trash cuts short my thoughts. My heart was breaking into pieces. My wearer could not even sacrifice his time to say goodbye for the good times we enjoyed. I thought he cared; now I know I was wrong.
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