It's an incredibly disorienting sensation; you struggle to get your bearings as the girl walks over and grabs something. You lurch upward and then down through a hole, slamming into the ground and then taking the entirety of her weight as the other foot rises and slams down next to you. The girl pulls the object upward -- you soon realize it's just a plain denim skirt, just above knee length. She snaps it, zips it up, and slides a belt into place. Moments later, she pulls a blouse on.
You watch this all from the vantage point of her toes, that being about the only spot where you can get any sense of her. She walks over to the dresser to put on make-up; she seems to spend a very long time doing it, but then, you really don't have a good sense of how long it takes girls to do their make-up. Once she's satisfied, you're in motion again, as she grabs a purse and a backpack, and then bounces down stairs.
This is the most significant strain yet, with each step feeling like you're being trampled. But as before, each step also brings a little shiver of pleasure, too -- which embarrasses you, especially since you have a view right up the tween's skirt.
You come to another level, and the girl drops the backpack right beside you -- you would put your hands up to defend yourself if you had them, it was briefly terrifing. But then you're on to linoleum, and more pain and pleasure as the ground now pushes back hard against you.
The mother from before is there, and the two talk about...something. It's weird -- you know the words are words, but you can't understand them. They talk for a moment, and the mother hands the girl a Pop Tart, and then you're off again into the entryway.
The girl pauses mid-bite to kneel down and pull a pair of slightly beat-up white slip-on shoes out of a closet. They are, obviously, about the same size as you are, and as you are lifted up and into one of them, you can see and tell that these are nearing the end of their lives; even if you could read the words written on the soles (you can't -- again, because you're a sock) you would struggle to, as they've been worn away. The air is thick with the heavy scent of stale foot odor, and then the world grows dark as you are only able to see by the light that trickles into the shoes.
Well, at least until you shift your vantage point to the part of you that sticks out above the tongue of the shoe. You can't really see much of the girl any more, save for the view straight up her leg, but at least you can see the world around you.
You are walking down a street in the suburbs; you notice the cars look a bit older in design. You wonder if maybe you've gone back in time; it wouldn't be weirder than anything else that's going on. You wander on until you stop among a series of trees that are the legs of other girls and boys, each the size of your owner. She stops to talk to a friend, a pretty blonde girl wearing a skirt that has to be on the edge of acceptable for school. After a bit, a bus comes rolling down the street, and the girls and you walk up the stairs and into the seats.
You can't even eavesdrop on the conversation, even knowing that it's probably pretty inane. All you can do is look around at giant tweens and teens as they ride the bus to what you figure will be a school.
You figure correctly, as about ten minutes or so later -- it could be more or less, time seems distorted -- you exit the bus and are now in a sea of giants, an overwhelming mass of feet and shoes and legs. Your owner goes to a locker and drops off her backpack, retrieving a couple of books from it. She then walks down a hall and into a classroom, and sits down at a desk. But it's not all bad. A few minutes later, she crosses her legs, lifting you into the air, and rocking you back and forth slowly. It's almost relaxing after the day you've had.
But that's about it for excitement. The bell rings and class begins, and you're here for the duration.
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