The Life of a Shoe
by John, tenth grade writer
Every morning, I wake up in a rush. I'm thrown on hurriedly, tied obnoxiously, and then I'm taken for an unpleasant jog to a bus stop. This is my life as a shoe.
On the bus, I get to sit on nice, hard plastic flooring. Did you catch that? I was being sarcastic. I hate my life - I don't get to enjoy anything to its fullest because I'm only four inches tall, and I'm constantly treaded violently. If anything, I should be full of hatred. But I'm not. I can't be, because I'm a poor little old shoe, and I can't do anything to change it.
During my day, I get to meet other shoes who I know so well. I get to see Livi's high boots, Toni's stilettos, and Nate's DCs, among many others. None of us want to be shoes; we were just made that way. I wanted to be a nice leather jacket, but no, I was made a shoe instead. Someday, I believe that shoes will overthrow humans and rule the world.
When my day is finally done, we return home. What a relief it is to feel the soft carpet underneath me! Then, I get to be taken off. It's really a joyous event, and only a shoe can appreciate it. After awhile, I'm put into the same closet I came out of that morning, where I can converse with my brother, Right Shoe, before finally retiring for the night.
I guess being a shoe isn't all bad, but it is nowhere near perfect, either. Tomorrow, I will do the same thing again. And the day after that, and the day after that into what seems like eternity.
