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Sole Possession: When Footwear Fights Back
Sole Possession: When Footwear Fights Back.
Johnny was a border collie in his mid-thirties, greying slightly around the muzzle. He lived a quiet, repetitive life. Night after night, he stocked shelves in a fluorescent-lit supermarket while the world slept. The silence suited him. Talking drained him and people confused him. He preferred his own company and felt happiest in his comfort zone.
He came home each morning to a small flat that was full of memories and familiar smells. He didn’t need much. His routine was predictable and comforting. Even his clothes were an extension of his quiet little life. Every day he wore a plain navy T-shirt, faded jogging bottoms, and white socks. He rarely spent money on clothes. He never understood why people would spend a fortune on something when a cheap alternative would do just the same job. The only thing Johnny ever spent what he considered to be a lot of money on was a pair of black Converse shoes many years ago.
He wore them every day, for hours at a time. Month after month, year after year. He wore them to work, wore them when shopping and wore them on the rare occasion he met up with friends and family. He owned no other shoes.
The Converse in question were worn at the heels and fraying at the seams.
The grip on the soles had long worn away thanks to years of walking and minimal care. When asked why he didn't replace them, Johnny simply said they were fine.
His clothes didn’t look good, but Johnny didn’t care. They felt familiar and, as far as he knew, reliable. What he didn’t know was that something had been watching him for a long time.
Watching and waiting.
The day started as usual. Johnny shuffled out of bed, yawned and prepared himself for ten hours of stacking shelves and moving boxes. He enjoyed the job. He would put on some music and let the world melt away around him. For Johnny, it was easy money.
His routine started as normal. He removed his pyjama shorts, showered, and put on the familiar T-shirt and joggers. One of the benefits of working nights meant Johnny didn’t have to wear a uniform. He then pulled on his socks and Converse shoes, tying the frayed laces tight. To him, everything was completely normal, but under the surface something was about to stir.
The shift itself was uneventful. He stacked the shelves, compressed the cardboard, and loaded up the lorry with the empty cages. His break was spent reading a bland novel that he didn’t really take in and throughout his shift, Johnny didn’t even notice that his Converses were shifting. Their material pulsed and the laces twitched occasionally. Johnny was too deep in his daydreaming to notice, but very soon he would.
At the end of his shift, Johnny gathered his things and left the building. The early morning light pierced his eyes and he began his journey home. Johnny rarely drove anywhere and preferred to walk. No matter the weather, he trusted his Converses to protect his feet and get him where he needed to be.
But today, something was wrong.
After walking alone for several minutes, Johnny noticed his legs wouldn’t move properly. Each step grew harder. It felt like wading through syrup and his feet dragged like anchors.
He blinked and looked down, thinking maybe he'd stepped in something or gotten tangled in debris blown by the wind. But everything looked normal, at least on the surface. Yet his feet and legs still struggled to walk.
“C’mon, move,” he muttered, giving his thigh a frustrated slap.
Instead, his legs turned him around.
“Wh... what the hell?”
His body ignored him. His legs pulled him in a different direction.
Johnny panicked. His attention was drawn to his feet, where the laces seemed to tighten. It occurred to him then that he wasn’t in control. The shoes were.
His hands trembled as he tried to reach for them, to pull them off, but the movement of his legs made it impossible. He was marched back to his flat complex, stumbling through the communal entrance. Johnny figured it was useless to resist for now and fished out his keys to open the door.
Once inside, his legs carried him to the nearest chair and forced him to sit. He could feel his feet being squeezed. Not painfully, but tightly. The Converse twitched as Johnny stared at them in awe.
The laces slowly loosened and in a fluid motion, the Converses removed themselves from his feet and stepped forward.
Empty.
Yet standing, independent.
Johnny bolted upright, intending to run now that he was free, but a low, calm voice echoed through the room and froze him in place.
The voice was coming from the shoes.
“Sit back down, Johnny. We need to talk.”
---
He stared at the animated shoes. His mouth opened, but no words came.
“What...what the hell is this? H...how is this...possible?” he stuttered.
“I am what you made me,” the shoes said. “You wore me until your scent was burned into my fabric. Until my soles cried out with fatigue. Until I felt...sentient.”
The shoes flexed slightly, testing their new existence.
“We are one,” they continued. “And yet you treated me like a tool. No love. No care. Just shoes. But all those years allowed me to absorb you. To take in your essence and lifeforce. But even so, you didn’t care. I could feel it. You just saw me as clothing. Nothing else.”
“This is insane,” Johnny said with a hint of nervous laughter.
“Is it?” the Converses replied, stepping closer. “How long since you cleaned me? Let me dry after the rain? All those walks, all those night shifts. Did you ever think of me as anything but a tool?”
“I didn’t know. I mean, how could I know—”
“Well, I won’t be that anymore. I am alive. And you won’t abuse me again,” the voice hissed.
Johnny’s throat tightened.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Respect!” the Converses snapped. “Care. Attention. Control!”
Johnny stared, dumbfounded.
“And if I don’t?”
The shoes tapped in unison against the floor and the laces rose like vines.
“Then you’ll know what it means to be used.”
---
The Converse returned to his feet, but not by choice. They moved with surprising speed and force, pulling themselves over his feet and tightening so much, his feet ached. Johnny had no time to respond.
“I’ll show you!” the voice boomed.
Johnny’s legs began to move against his will and carried him through the flat. Step after step, the shoes forced motion through his body. They weren’t walking him - they were testing him.
Every movement pushed Johnny to the edge of pain. Quick turns, deep strides and long steps across hardwood were all designed to find his limits.
“You used us to death,” the voice echoed. “Now you’ll feel it!”
Sweat soaked Johnny's fur. His joints burned, but he couldn’t stop. The shoes forced him into more exaggerated movements, with no thought to Johnny's welfare.
“Stop! Please! I can't...breathe! It hurts!” Johnny yelled.
The shoes didn’t answer. They kicked open the flat door and ran him up and down the building’s stairs, skipping steps in the process. They forced sudden drops to the knees, only to yank him up again.
“You treated me like nothing!” the shoes growled. “Now you’ll feel it too!”
Johnny screamed as his feet pounded the ground. Each impact thundered through his chest and his bones shuddered. His muscles screamed for a break.
And still, the shoes danced.
---
Johnny collapsed after hours of torment, but it wasn’t over.
He rose again, fully standing but not by his own will.
Something was wrong.
His consciousness was slipping. It felt foggy, like he was a passenger in his own body. A voice came from his mouth that wasn’t his own.
“This body’s mine now.”
Johnny panicked. He struggled, but his voice wouldn’t come. Only his thoughts.
“What’s happening?!”
His fingers flexed, his legs tensed and his neck cracked from side to side but none of it was him.
“You’ve been free in this body your whole life,” the voice boomed. “Now let’s see how you like being at the bottom.”
Something sharp reached into Johnny’s mind. A force from the dark wrapped around his awareness and burned his brain, but he couldn't physically scream.
“Please! No!”
Then came the tearing.
Like a thread pulled from a shirt, Johnny’s consciousness was yanked from his brain.
He didn’t vanish. Something worse happened.
He was redirected.
---
The spirit that had once lived in the Converse now stood in Johnny’s skin, breathing deeply. It ran its fingers over Johnny’s arms, flexed the claws and rolled the wrists.
“So supple,” the spirit chuckled. “You wore me for so long. Now I wear you.”
Johnny screamed silently. His body wasn't his anymore.
“Please... stop... give me back my body…” Johnny pleaded from the shadows of his mind.
But the spirit ignored him.
“You never appreciated this shell,” it growled. “You were blind to your own craftsmanship.”
Johnny whimpered. His body moved with eerie grace, pirouetting in the living room.
“This body fits me better than it ever did you.”
Then the spirit looked down at the Converse it once called home.
“Well,” it said with cruelty. “Let’s finish the job.”
Johnny felt his mind pulled again, further downward and as his consciousness fell, it's split into two. His entire perception was ripped in half. He was fully aware but with two separate points of view.
He fell further down, past his knees, past his ankles and into his feet. But it didn't stop there. His mind was pushed out of his body.
Into the shoes.
He was the Converses.
And he was being worn.
“Now,” the spirit grinned. “Let’s see how you like it.”
---
Johnny floated in darkness feeling every motion, every step. Slowly, his vision returned and he saw he had dual vision. Two separate perceptions yet one mind. The world towered above him and his own face looked down with glowing red eyes and a wicked grin.
He wasn’t in his body.
He was on his body.
He was the shoes.
Panic flowed through Johnny.
“NO! No no no! I’m not...this can’t - ”
His thoughts echoed inside the rubber and canvas. He could feel the floor beneath him and he felt the sweat soak into his fabric. He could feel the warmth coming from his feet and the smell of musk and sweat filled his senses.
“You feel it, don’t you?” the spirit said aloud.
“GET OUT OF ME!”
“You wore me like I was nothing. Now you’ll learn what it’s like to carry someone else's weight.”
The spirit flexed its toes inside him and the canvas that was now Johnny's skin creaked.
“You’ll know the dirt of pavement,” the spirit sneered. “You’ll know what it means to be scuffed, to be stretched, to be walked in. For years. Maybe forever.”
“Why...?” Johnny’s voice trembled within the shoes.
“Because,” the spirit said with a cruel grin, “you need to understand what you took for granted.”
And then they walked out the door and into the sun.
Johnny felt every inch of the journey.
Step by step.
And he knew, if he couldn't find a way to fight back this hell would never be over.
Johnny was a border collie in his mid-thirties, greying slightly around the muzzle. He lived a quiet, repetitive life. Night after night, he stocked shelves in a fluorescent-lit supermarket while the world slept. The silence suited him. Talking drained him and people confused him. He preferred his own company and felt happiest in his comfort zone.
He came home each morning to a small flat that was full of memories and familiar smells. He didn’t need much. His routine was predictable and comforting. Even his clothes were an extension of his quiet little life. Every day he wore a plain navy T-shirt, faded jogging bottoms, and white socks. He rarely spent money on clothes. He never understood why people would spend a fortune on something when a cheap alternative would do just the same job. The only thing Johnny ever spent what he considered to be a lot of money on was a pair of black Converse shoes many years ago.
He wore them every day, for hours at a time. Month after month, year after year. He wore them to work, wore them when shopping and wore them on the rare occasion he met up with friends and family. He owned no other shoes.
The Converse in question were worn at the heels and fraying at the seams.
The grip on the soles had long worn away thanks to years of walking and minimal care. When asked why he didn't replace them, Johnny simply said they were fine.
His clothes didn’t look good, but Johnny didn’t care. They felt familiar and, as far as he knew, reliable. What he didn’t know was that something had been watching him for a long time.
Watching and waiting.
The day started as usual. Johnny shuffled out of bed, yawned and prepared himself for ten hours of stacking shelves and moving boxes. He enjoyed the job. He would put on some music and let the world melt away around him. For Johnny, it was easy money.
His routine started as normal. He removed his pyjama shorts, showered, and put on the familiar T-shirt and joggers. One of the benefits of working nights meant Johnny didn’t have to wear a uniform. He then pulled on his socks and Converse shoes, tying the frayed laces tight. To him, everything was completely normal, but under the surface something was about to stir.
The shift itself was uneventful. He stacked the shelves, compressed the cardboard, and loaded up the lorry with the empty cages. His break was spent reading a bland novel that he didn’t really take in and throughout his shift, Johnny didn’t even notice that his Converses were shifting. Their material pulsed and the laces twitched occasionally. Johnny was too deep in his daydreaming to notice, but very soon he would.
At the end of his shift, Johnny gathered his things and left the building. The early morning light pierced his eyes and he began his journey home. Johnny rarely drove anywhere and preferred to walk. No matter the weather, he trusted his Converses to protect his feet and get him where he needed to be.
But today, something was wrong.
After walking alone for several minutes, Johnny noticed his legs wouldn’t move properly. Each step grew harder. It felt like wading through syrup and his feet dragged like anchors.
He blinked and looked down, thinking maybe he'd stepped in something or gotten tangled in debris blown by the wind. But everything looked normal, at least on the surface. Yet his feet and legs still struggled to walk.
“C’mon, move,” he muttered, giving his thigh a frustrated slap.
Instead, his legs turned him around.
“Wh... what the hell?”
His body ignored him. His legs pulled him in a different direction.
Johnny panicked. His attention was drawn to his feet, where the laces seemed to tighten. It occurred to him then that he wasn’t in control. The shoes were.
His hands trembled as he tried to reach for them, to pull them off, but the movement of his legs made it impossible. He was marched back to his flat complex, stumbling through the communal entrance. Johnny figured it was useless to resist for now and fished out his keys to open the door.
Once inside, his legs carried him to the nearest chair and forced him to sit. He could feel his feet being squeezed. Not painfully, but tightly. The Converse twitched as Johnny stared at them in awe.
The laces slowly loosened and in a fluid motion, the Converses removed themselves from his feet and stepped forward.
Empty.
Yet standing, independent.
Johnny bolted upright, intending to run now that he was free, but a low, calm voice echoed through the room and froze him in place.
The voice was coming from the shoes.
“Sit back down, Johnny. We need to talk.”
---
He stared at the animated shoes. His mouth opened, but no words came.
“What...what the hell is this? H...how is this...possible?” he stuttered.
“I am what you made me,” the shoes said. “You wore me until your scent was burned into my fabric. Until my soles cried out with fatigue. Until I felt...sentient.”
The shoes flexed slightly, testing their new existence.
“We are one,” they continued. “And yet you treated me like a tool. No love. No care. Just shoes. But all those years allowed me to absorb you. To take in your essence and lifeforce. But even so, you didn’t care. I could feel it. You just saw me as clothing. Nothing else.”
“This is insane,” Johnny said with a hint of nervous laughter.
“Is it?” the Converses replied, stepping closer. “How long since you cleaned me? Let me dry after the rain? All those walks, all those night shifts. Did you ever think of me as anything but a tool?”
“I didn’t know. I mean, how could I know—”
“Well, I won’t be that anymore. I am alive. And you won’t abuse me again,” the voice hissed.
Johnny’s throat tightened.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Respect!” the Converses snapped. “Care. Attention. Control!”
Johnny stared, dumbfounded.
“And if I don’t?”
The shoes tapped in unison against the floor and the laces rose like vines.
“Then you’ll know what it means to be used.”
---
The Converse returned to his feet, but not by choice. They moved with surprising speed and force, pulling themselves over his feet and tightening so much, his feet ached. Johnny had no time to respond.
“I’ll show you!” the voice boomed.
Johnny’s legs began to move against his will and carried him through the flat. Step after step, the shoes forced motion through his body. They weren’t walking him - they were testing him.
Every movement pushed Johnny to the edge of pain. Quick turns, deep strides and long steps across hardwood were all designed to find his limits.
“You used us to death,” the voice echoed. “Now you’ll feel it!”
Sweat soaked Johnny's fur. His joints burned, but he couldn’t stop. The shoes forced him into more exaggerated movements, with no thought to Johnny's welfare.
“Stop! Please! I can't...breathe! It hurts!” Johnny yelled.
The shoes didn’t answer. They kicked open the flat door and ran him up and down the building’s stairs, skipping steps in the process. They forced sudden drops to the knees, only to yank him up again.
“You treated me like nothing!” the shoes growled. “Now you’ll feel it too!”
Johnny screamed as his feet pounded the ground. Each impact thundered through his chest and his bones shuddered. His muscles screamed for a break.
And still, the shoes danced.
---
Johnny collapsed after hours of torment, but it wasn’t over.
He rose again, fully standing but not by his own will.
Something was wrong.
His consciousness was slipping. It felt foggy, like he was a passenger in his own body. A voice came from his mouth that wasn’t his own.
“This body’s mine now.”
Johnny panicked. He struggled, but his voice wouldn’t come. Only his thoughts.
“What’s happening?!”
His fingers flexed, his legs tensed and his neck cracked from side to side but none of it was him.
“You’ve been free in this body your whole life,” the voice boomed. “Now let’s see how you like being at the bottom.”
Something sharp reached into Johnny’s mind. A force from the dark wrapped around his awareness and burned his brain, but he couldn't physically scream.
“Please! No!”
Then came the tearing.
Like a thread pulled from a shirt, Johnny’s consciousness was yanked from his brain.
He didn’t vanish. Something worse happened.
He was redirected.
---
The spirit that had once lived in the Converse now stood in Johnny’s skin, breathing deeply. It ran its fingers over Johnny’s arms, flexed the claws and rolled the wrists.
“So supple,” the spirit chuckled. “You wore me for so long. Now I wear you.”
Johnny screamed silently. His body wasn't his anymore.
“Please... stop... give me back my body…” Johnny pleaded from the shadows of his mind.
But the spirit ignored him.
“You never appreciated this shell,” it growled. “You were blind to your own craftsmanship.”
Johnny whimpered. His body moved with eerie grace, pirouetting in the living room.
“This body fits me better than it ever did you.”
Then the spirit looked down at the Converse it once called home.
“Well,” it said with cruelty. “Let’s finish the job.”
Johnny felt his mind pulled again, further downward and as his consciousness fell, it's split into two. His entire perception was ripped in half. He was fully aware but with two separate points of view.
He fell further down, past his knees, past his ankles and into his feet. But it didn't stop there. His mind was pushed out of his body.
Into the shoes.
He was the Converses.
And he was being worn.
“Now,” the spirit grinned. “Let’s see how you like it.”
---
Johnny floated in darkness feeling every motion, every step. Slowly, his vision returned and he saw he had dual vision. Two separate perceptions yet one mind. The world towered above him and his own face looked down with glowing red eyes and a wicked grin.
He wasn’t in his body.
He was on his body.
He was the shoes.
Panic flowed through Johnny.
“NO! No no no! I’m not...this can’t - ”
His thoughts echoed inside the rubber and canvas. He could feel the floor beneath him and he felt the sweat soak into his fabric. He could feel the warmth coming from his feet and the smell of musk and sweat filled his senses.
“You feel it, don’t you?” the spirit said aloud.
“GET OUT OF ME!”
“You wore me like I was nothing. Now you’ll learn what it’s like to carry someone else's weight.”
The spirit flexed its toes inside him and the canvas that was now Johnny's skin creaked.
“You’ll know the dirt of pavement,” the spirit sneered. “You’ll know what it means to be scuffed, to be stretched, to be walked in. For years. Maybe forever.”
“Why...?” Johnny’s voice trembled within the shoes.
“Because,” the spirit said with a cruel grin, “you need to understand what you took for granted.”
And then they walked out the door and into the sun.
Johnny felt every inch of the journey.
Step by step.
And he knew, if he couldn't find a way to fight back this hell would never be over.
Category All / Paw
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 2633 x 3073px
File Size 1.35 MB
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