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The stinky life of a left shoe.

By NimbusPublished 6 months ago β€’ 4 min read
Photo by Jose Fontano on Unsplash

I'm a left shoe, a once-gleaming white sneaker, now tarnished and, well, quite smelly. You see, my life has been a journey of endurance, bearing the brunt of an owner with exceptionally smelly feet. Allow me to walk you through my odorous odyssey.

My story begins in a bustling shoe store, where I was chosen by a teenager named Max. At first, I felt lucky. That was until I discovered the challenge I had to face every day: Max's stinky feet. It was a relentless assault on my fabric, a daily test of my resilience.

The first few weeks were a blur of sweat and odor. Each day, as Max slid his foot into me, I braced myself. The stench was overpowering, a pungent mix that seemed to grow stronger with each wear. I tried to absorb it, but soon, it became a part of me.

Despite the smell, I was loyal. I supported Max through long walks, grueling runs, and endless hours of basketball practice. I was there, enduring silently, hoping for a whiff of fresh air but often greeted by the damp, sour scent of foot sweat.

Then came the day I was separated from my right partner. In a rush to get home, Max carelessly flung us off his feet. I landed in the backyard, while my partner made it safely indoors. That night, I lay alone, relishing the cool night air, a brief respite from my smelly existence.

The next morning, I wasn't greeted by Max's foot. Instead, I was picked up by his younger brother, Sam, who decided to use me as a goalpost for his soccer practice. Each kick sent me tumbling across the grass, further away from my other half and my smelly routine.

Days turned into weeks. I missed my partner but not the stench. I became a fixture in the backyard, slowly forgotten, watching seasons change through the lenses of dew, rain, and the occasional blanket of snow.

One rainy day, I was discovered by their dog, Buster. In his mouth, I found a new kind of misery. He chewed on me, his drool seeping into my already worn fabric. I longed for Max's foot, as odd as it sounds, for at least it was familiar.

Buster eventually grew bored of me, and I was left under a bush. There, I witnessed the smaller beauties of life. Ants marched in and out of me, making me their temporary hill. Birds used bits of my frayed laces for their nests. In this solitude, I found a bittersweet peace, a break from the stench but an ache of being incomplete.

Months passed, and I was gradually buried under leaves and dirt. My once-white exterior was now a canvas of mud and decay. But then, one spring day, Max found me while cleaning the yard. He picked me up, a look of disgust at the state I was in, and my heart sank, knowing I'd be discarded.

To my surprise, Max didn't throw me away. Instead, he washed me, scrubbing off months of grime and dirt. It was refreshing, but as he slipped his foot into me again, the familiar stench returned. I realized then, no amount of washing could rid me of the smell that had become a part of my being.

Max used me for yard work now. I was no longer the shiny sneaker but a smelly, battered shoe, tasked with trudging through mud and mowing the lawn. Each step was a reminder of my fall from grace, but also a testament to my endurance.

As time wore on, the stink became a constant, an unavoidable aspect of my existence. I started to see it differently. It wasn't just an odor; it was a story - of basketball games won, of races run, of teenage adventures. It was Max's unique imprint on me, a testament to our shared journey.

One day, while gardening, Max left me outside, and a sudden storm hit. I was washed away in the rain, carried off into a stream. It was a turbulent ride, one that cleansed me further, both literally and metaphorically.

I ended up miles away, in a new neighborhood, discarded yet again. But this time, I was picked up by Mr. Jenkins, a kind-hearted man who saw potential in my battered form. He used me as a planter, filling me with soil and seeds. I became a home for a beautiful sunflower, its vibrant yellow a stark contrast to my stained exterior.

In Mr. Jenkins' garden, I saw life from a new perspective. I was no longer just a smelly shoe; I was a symbol of growth and resilience. Children marveled at the flower growing from me, their laughter a melody far sweeter than the

Memories of stench.

As the sunflower bloomed, I reflected on my journey. From a pristine shoe in a store to a smelly sneaker, to a forgotten backyard castaway, and finally, to a blooming vessel of life. Each chapter, infused with its own scent, shaped me.

In the end, I realized that life, much like foot odor, can be unpleasant, overwhelming, but it's also full of unexpected turns. It's about enduring the stinky moments and finding beauty in the most unlikely places.

So, here I am, a smelly shoe turned flower pot, basking in the sun, holding a piece of the sky. I've come to embrace my journey, every stinky, beautiful, and unexpected step of it.


❀️ π•‹π•™π•’π•Ÿπ•œπ•€ 𝕀𝕠 π•žπ•¦π•”π•™ 𝕗𝕠𝕣 π•£π•–π•’π••π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜!❀️


About the Creator


I love showing my creative side through short stories, poetry, articles, blogs and more!

My love for reading, writing and personal growth is endless πŸ“šβœοΈπŸ“ˆ

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Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

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