The world was a brutal cacophony of jolts and impacts as Becca’s foot rose and fell, each step battering your tiny, exhausted form. Stuck fast to her rough, calloused sole, you had no power to move, to escape, or even to shift as her foot hit the cold hospital floor in an endless rhythm. The initial weight had been overwhelming, but now the relentless repetition left your senses numbed and battered. Each step pressed you deeper against the gritty surface of her skin, embedding you into the layers of grime and neglect that clung to her like a second skin.
It felt like hours — maybe it was — as she moved, dragging you along every inch of her path through the dimly lit hospital corridors. The air around you was thick and musty, tinged with a stale humidity from her own body heat, mixing with the unyielding smell of her unwashed foot. Your surroundings became hazy, the smells and sensations almost blending into a nightmarish blur, though the biting edges of her cracked, hardened skin kept you painfully aware of each pounding step.
As you lay flattened against her sole, you noticed the sporadic grooves and rough patches in the layers of her skin, the tiny cracks that had become canyon-like crevices from your minute perspective. Specks of dirt and tiny fragments were wedged in these cracks, surrounding you like debris, each piece worn into the very texture of her sole, indifferent to your plight. Her every step would grind you further into the grit, the particles embedding themselves into you as if to make sure you wouldn’t escape.
Eventually, the harsh lighting of the hospital corridor dimmed slightly, and the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps slowed, softening as she reached the threshold of her room. Her gait shifted, no longer the robotic, dreamlike trudge through the halls, but something quieter, almost tentative. You felt her sink into a chair, the world tilting as she crossed one leg over the other. For the first time in hours, there was stillness. Your body, battered and bruised, barely had the strength to feel relief. The warmth of her foot pressed into you, hot and suffocating, though now you could just make out the faint light seeping in from beyond her curled toes.
Then, almost as if on a whim, Becca moved her foot. It tilted slightly, shifting just enough to bring your tiny form into her view.
Her vacant eyes, still distant and unfocused, traced along her own skin until they landed on you. There was no expression of shock or recognition, no gasp of surprise or curiosity—just an empty stare, hollow and unwavering. Her lips, dry and cracked from hours of muttering and silence, remained motionless as she regarded you, her gaze unwavering and eerily intense.
It was as though she was looking through you, her cloudy blue eyes not fully processing what was in front of her. She didn’t make a sound, her breathing slow and even, almost hypnotic, as she continued to stare. The pale light from the hospital window cast shadows across her features, deepening the lines etched into her skin. The faint hollows beneath her eyes seemed darker now, giving her face a gaunt, haunting look, amplifying the emptiness in her expression.
Pinned against her sole, you felt every breath she took, the slight expansion of her chest as she inhaled, each exhale a soft sigh that brushed past her chapped lips. Her skin, pale and stretched thin from the exhaustion of her mind, made her look almost ghostly, like a specter trapped between this world and another. She was both impossibly close and incomprehensibly distant, a silent force that observed without comprehension or empathy.
Her cracked lips parted slightly, though no words came forth. Her stare grew more intense, but there was something chilling in her eyes, a vast, bottomless detachment. It was as if she was assessing a part of herself, an extension of the turmoil and shadows that clouded her mind, rather than a separate, sentient being. Her gaze felt penetrating, like it could strip away everything that made you who you were, reducing you to nothing more than a part of the grime stuck to her sole.
A glimmer of recognition flickered across her face for a moment, her brow twitching, as if somewhere in the depths of her fractured mind, she understood that you were something separate, something aware. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, the hollowness returning as she allowed her foot to lower slightly, pressing you into the cool surface of the floor. She maintained her gaze, a quiet intensity in her eyes that felt both chilling and endlessly vast. You were exposed beneath that stare, your tiny form stripped of dignity, flattened against her rough skin and the hard tile below.
Finally, after an agonizing stretch of silence, she shifted again, crossing her legs in a way that pinned you once more against her dirty sole. She didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t speak or make any sound that might indicate she saw you as anything more than an insect, an insignificant detail stuck to her. Her foot pressed down with an indifferent finality, flattening you completely against the grime-ridden skin, as though your existence held no weight in her world.
The pressure was absolute, an unyielding force that enveloped you completely. You were nothing but a part of the dirt on her foot, embedded there like a stain she neither cared about nor intended to clean away. You could feel the harshness of the tiny rocks and grit that had adhered to her sole for days, their sharp edges digging into your skin, adding to the suffocating, overwhelming mix of sensations.
Becca’s breathing slowed, deepening as her exhaustion overtook her. In her stillness, her presence loomed like an unfathomable force, a reality you were now trapped in. Each slight shift, each subtle flex of her foot, only served to reinforce the utter indifference that surrounded you, an endless abyss in her fractured mind where you were nothing more than a part of the neglected grime she carried without a second thought.
And as her foot remained planted, an unmovable weight above you, her vacant eyes stared ahead, leaving you stranded in a quiet, suffocating darkness that knew neither compassion nor release.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
