by Jack Hammat
Sitting in an alley full of trash and rats and a few hissing mangy cats I thought about myself. I am a disgusting, dirty, rotten, old running shoe. I have been here for about three years, making me five. I had once been a white and shiny silver new Balance shoe belonging to a famous athlete. Now my laces are yellow and the rest of me am a yellowy brownie colour with holes all over my soles. My thoughts start to wander to what I used to be and who I used to belong to.
I had been brand new, sitting on the shelf. One day a famous athlete came into the shop who the manager recognised but I didn’t. He scrutinised each shoe closely then he saw me. He picked me up and took me over to the manager and said that I was the one he wanted. The manager picked me up and put me and my twin in a box. The athlete picked us up and got into his shiny silver sports car on the seat next to him.
When we arrived at the athlete’s house, which was more like a mansion than a house, he took us inside and tried us on. Apparently we were better than his old shoes. We went out for a test run which was close to twenty kilometres. When we arrived home he took us off and said to himself, “I have a strange feeling that I will win a great many races with these shoes.”
It turned out that the athlete was right. He won lots and lots of races with us and a few other sporting events as well. The athlete was very proud of me and my twin. He showed us off to all the other athletes and bragged about us.
Everything was perfect until he went out without us one day. That wasn’t very unusual, he went out without us quite often, but this time he came back with a brand new pair of shoes. After that he wore us less and less until he never wore us at all, so we stayed in the bottom of the wardrobe.