Wendy's feetful encounter

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The old door lock latched shut. Wendy’s school bag hit the floor with a dull thud, the textbooks inside clattering roughly against one another. Her well-worn converse sneakers followed shortly, unceremoniously shed and pushed aside. For a moment, her left foot stretched itself. The outlines of her splayed toes were clearly visible through the fabric of her white ankle socks. Wendy noticed this but didn’t realize she wasn’t doing it intentionally. The toils of college life had left her far too tired to think properly.

Her left toes continued to wiggle about as she trudged into her apartment. Though she’d always describe her place as ‘cozy’, ‘claustrophobic’ was probably more accurate. The entirety of the cramped dorm room greeted you just past foyer, leaving little to the imagination. Against the far wall sat her unmade bed. A rickety twin frame supported an old mattress decorated in laundry. A fold out table with a mess of loose notes stood to the left. A dresser on the right held up Wendy’s entire kitchen ensemble, consisting of a bargain bin electric kettle and a box of seafood flavored cup noodles. And that was it, everything to Wendy’s name, lit by a dim overhead light and a window fit for a prison cell.

The exhausted student surveyed her surroundings. The idea of tidying up briefly crossed her mind, but it was quickly dismissed. The assortment of discarded clothes and papers seemed almost fitting to accentuate the look of chipped paint and carpet stains.

What an awful day. Having classes on both sides of campus should be illegal.

Stepping over piles of worn socks, Wendy threw herself lazily onto the bed. A long sigh echoed off the walls, a declaration of her distain for the boredom and humdrum of classes. While eyeing her bookbag and the notes waiting within, she decided studying would be a problem for another day. Of course, another day was supposed to have been today, or yesterday, or the day before that. Nevertheless, she was in no mood to do any work.

After a few minutes of much needed rest, Wendy mustered enough energy to slowly sit herself up. She grabbed her laptop off the floor and tried to decide on something to watch. In her quest of procrastination, she’d already seen everything halfway decent on Netflix.

Maybe I can torrent that new marvel movie.

This plan was cut short, however, when her laptop refused to boot up.

C’mon… dead again? Ugh.

A few minutes of digging through clothes yielded an old and frayed charging cable which Wendy promptly inserted into her device. It would take hours to charge her laptop with this, and she knew that.

Having nothing else to do, she tossed her computer aside and absentmindedly began looking around. Between a couple shirts, a pair of underwear, and her cheap jeans, she spotted just enough clean clothes to last another day or two. The only thing she didn’t see any of were clean socks. She lifted her left foot and looked at the ones she was wearing. The bottom was slightly damp and there was a faint smell of sweat, but it didn’t look too dirty.

“Well… I guess I can wear these for another day.” She said aloud.

Right as she said this, her foot twitched. It shook a little back and forth, almost as if protesting the idea. Her toes also began to move sporadically again. Wendy grabbed them in her hands and tried to stop moving, but her limb didn’t seem too keen on responding. Her rogue foot just squirmed beneath her fingers. Only when she stripped off her sock did it seemed to calm down. She stared at her bare foot for a few seconds, making sure the episode had passed. When she tried moving it around again, everything seemed normal.

What a weird spasm. I guess that’s what I get for walking around all day in those crappy shoes.

Tired and without entertainment, Wendy let herself fall into back and just stared at the ceiling until she fell asleep. At the base of the bed, her newly bared left foot slowly turned towards her.

Wendy woke up later that evening to a rather curious sight. As the peaceful veil of sleep rescinded, an odd note in the air greeted her nostrils. Squinting one eye open revealed only the blurry outline of a pink mass. It seemed to be moving, but she couldn’t be sure. Only when she fully opened both eyes did the form take a recognizable shape. With slender toes and small wrinkles, Wendy realized she was now staring at the sole of a foot, her own left foot to be precise. Her leg was contorted awkwardly beneath the sheets, allowing her foot to rest at eye level on her pillow.

Her sole actually looked quite soft. Daily moisturizing and the occasional splurge on a pedicure definitely paying off. They were a shapely size 6, and Wendy didn’t mind showing them off in anything from heels to sandals. After taking a minute to admire herself, Wendy couldn’t help but laugh at her pretzel like posture.

How on earth did I manage to get like this?

When Wendy finally pushed herself up and stretched her leg back out, she was surprised to find it hardly even sore from being contorted all night. Looking to her outstretched foot again and slowly bringing it closer, she gave a quick sniff beneath her toes. Her nose wrinkled a little, but she smiled. While the smell wasn’t exactly sweet, it was her own scent, and she found that she didn’t really mind it.