A Day in the Life of Adeleine's Objects

A Day in the Life of Adeleine's Objects

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Witness No. 1: The Mattress

One of these days, this human menace will descend on me with such force that I’ll have no choice but to compress into a pancake.

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m a mattress. It’s my destiny to be sat and laid on. But when I was bought from the store, I expected a bunch of soft Noddies to be resting on me for twenty-three hours a day. The last thing I anticipated was being subject to the weight of this monster.

She has a name: Adeleine. I loathe even saying it.

The girl knows no concept of mercy. Often she’ll come in here and sit on me without even bothering to wash herself, even during the summer. I’m forced to soak in the sweat from her bottom—yes, there are various anus-shaped stains and imprints on me—and she rubs salt into the wound by sometimes wiggling her rump deeper into my surface.

Woman, everyone knows I’m your mattress! I don’t require you to mark me!

It’s even more dreadful when she shifts in the middle of the night. Her hole is practically kissing me as she lets out the occasional whisper of gas—a stench reminiscent of expired eggs.

If you thought her posterior was awful, then allow me to tell you about her feet. Those cursed extremities with their ten digits love to air out on top of me. The only mercy I’m granted is that the pillows absorb much of the sweat, odour and other wretched elements.

However, for as small as my master is, her feet possess unbelievable power. Every time she prepares for bed, she launches herself onto me as if I were a trampoline. Her feet dig into my coils with the weight of two anvils, and yet she revels in this. She wiggles her toes and presses down on me until I can flatten no more.

After an eternity of torment, she collapses onto me. For hours I’m subjected to her relentless rolling, her heels and toes repeatedly digging into my delicate foam.

Fortunately today the room’s colours are getting brighter. The witch once again rises from her slumber, rubbing her eyes and letting the crust drop down onto me. Sickening as it may be, at least my job is over until tonight.

She’s wiping the dust off her feet, smacking her lips and now heading towards the bathroom.

Witness No. 2: The Toothbrush

The lights are on! She’s back!

And now she’s picking me up, here we go again. Huh… You know, Adeleine doesn’t look too bad this morning. She still looks like a scraggly beast with all that bedhead, but she’s one percent less intimidating.

“I gotta cut back on the coffee,” she says, yawning and blasting me with her breath.

If there’s one thing I can say about Adeleine, it’s that she’s not a liar. Forget needing to cut back on coffee. This girl needs to cut back on eating in general; give her the Squishy diet.

Oh man… Is this what it’s like when people get stuck in the desert? Just endless heat. If she doesn’t stop yawning, she’s gonna burn my bristles off.

“Get out the tube already.” She’s squeezing that toothpaste tube hard. I’m already prepped for this, don’t worry. There’s no way she can…

No! Every single time I try to give her the benefit of the doubt, the girl finds a way to screw it over. I’m now drowning in toothpaste when everyone knows you’re only supposed to squeeze a pea’s worth. Just an itty bitty pea. Adeleine? She covers my entire head.

She’s opening her mouth wide… Oh my goodness… This girl hydrates on coffee. Her teeth are so caramel tinted and the smell is so—

Gah! Here I go, trapped inside her slobbery mouth. I feel so dizzy going back and forth at this speed. It doesn’t help matters that she’s gripping my handle so firmly. I live to keep people’s teeth shiny, every toothbrush does. But Adeleine’s sticky teeth mixed with that acidic breath makes me want to be thrown away instantly.

In between her bottom teeth are bits of meat from the previous night. If she just brushed twice a day like a normal citizen of Dream Land, she wouldn’t need to scrub so hard.

Matter of fact, why didn’t she just use floss?

Now I’m collecting the sugar that’s all over her mouth. From the teeth to the gums to the roof of her mouth, there isn’t an inch without sugar. And the hell continues as she submerges me in her spit. There’s so much saliva backing up in her mouth that I can barely breathe.

Suddenly there’s light. I’m put outside temporarily as she spits into the sink.

Back to making out with her teeth. The molars in particular need some heavy scrubbing. As much as it pains me to do so, it is kind of worth it. I dread the day she gets a cavity and I have to deal with some real rot.

Ow! Jeez, lady, don’t scrape me so hard against your tongue! You wanna bleed?

If you need proof that she’s not a normal woman, here it is. She doesn’t just brush her tongue. No, she treats me like I’m some kind of lollipop. The girl swirls her tongue around my head; she sucks on me, sometimes letting out a moan; she’s even tried to tongue kiss me by sticking her tongue between my bristles. Look, they’re beautiful bristles, but I’m not interesting in dating a woman whose breath smells like death.

She’s spitting again, this time revealing there was even more gunk between her teeth. I can’t handle this, especially as she’s still licking me! She’s just licking the back of the brush now.

“Apple-flavoured toothpaste tastes the best…”

Oh. Still, if likes the taste of apple toothpaste, she should just lick it off her fingers. Not treat me like I’m a spoon.

Okay, okay, the pain is over. Adeleine isn’t one to throw toothbrushes away quickly, just so you know. My life is going to continue for another six months. At least I know when my end will arrive. Those poor clothes, on the other hand…

Witness No. 3: The Flip-Flops

Here she comes…

Her steps rumble like a thunderstorm, shaking the ground. Each thud sends shivers through our soles, and we shiver at the thought of being slipped onto her feet once more.

After all these years we know what to expect. Our surfaces are a testament to our long relationship with Adeleine. Splashes of paint have turned us into a kaleidoscopic art project, while her toes have carved out little valleys where her liquids now pools after a downpour of sweaty weather.

It’s a fate too humiliating for shoes that have served her so well.

She’s humming as she stops right in front of us. Without a warning she lifts her left foot. Oh dear… It hasn’t even seen the outdoors yet, and it’s already gathered a few specks of dust.

“You guys ready?” she asks us, as if we could talk back to her.

As she slips her foot into our right half, we let out a squeaky groan. The initial contact is damp and terrifyingly warm.

“Hmm… I’m gonna remember to wash these someday. I think.” She picks up our left half and squeezes it like a wash rag, expelling all of our salty tears.

With a grin, she slides her foot in it and crushes us like two sponges. At the end of the day, that’s what we are to Adeleine: two sponges meant to absorb toxic foot sludge.

She has always seemed determined to make sure we cry. Her sweat threatens to drown us once she starts her casual walk into Dream Land. Her destination? Likely Float Islands. Adeleine loves taking long walks to soak in the nature, as it helps her to feel more in tune with her artistic creativity. As much as we respect her talents, her strolls come at the cost of us being unable to breathe.

The heat surrounds us like a suffocating blanket, with the sweat now turning our surface into a sticky and moist floor. There is so much sweat that it’s cascading like waterfalls onto the sandy path leading to Float Islands.

Yes, you can add that to the list of uncomfortable qualities. We’re not as equipped to handle outdoor elements as regular sandals, and so sand regular gets trapped between us and Adeleine’s soles. It creates a scratchy sensation, to put it lightly.

Because she didn’t wash her feet last night, she also has, alarmingly, a touch of toe jam. Let’s see how thick it gets by the end of the day.

“Who knows,” she chuckles, picking up the pace, “by the time I get there, it might be cloudy.”

We wish we could be so lucky.

As if the pressure weren’t bad enough—the balls of Adeleine’s feet deformed us as much as her toes—the odour was deadly. She has often quipped that her feet resembled two blocks of aged cheese, and while it was a joke, it was rooted in a pungent truth.

However, we would describe it more accurately as vinegar merely mixed with the creamy, tangy essence of old cheese.

The constant slimy noises as the feet shuffled against our surface was revolting. Each time we were lifted, a sickening squeak would echo, only to be followed by the slap of our surfaces kissing her soles.

Now that she’s arrived at Float Islands, she’s dangling us over the ocean.

She doesn’t just get excitement from torturing us with her walking. She gets excited whenever she can place us in between her toes. What she’ll do is place the strap of one of our halves in between her slimy digits, then she’ll shake us like mad.

Trust us: we are at no risk of falling into the ocean. As lovely as death would be, Adeleine is too competent at this dangling game.

“Ah, here come those clouds,” she sighs, spreading her toes. “Yeah… A bit of cool, finally.”

While it feels good to her, we’re the ones completely drenched in grimy foot sweat. Therefore we’re shivering cold, and it’ll take us minutes before we’re as calm and collected as she is. Even then, we still must put up with the walls of stink trapping us. Ultimately though, in this hellish life, one must cherish the few good moments that arrive.

Once we’re on Adeleine’s feet, we seldom leave them. She doesn’t go barefoot like the majority of Dream Land’s residents, instead relying on us as her protectors from branches and tiny insects.

It’s sunset, and we’re so wet that our very cores are soggy and flexible. Yet Adeleine is skipping home as if she hasn’t worn us into the ground. The moment she steps through the front door, she kicks us off and brings us up to her nose.

“Ooh boy, that’s vile,” she snickers. And she drops us back down, no doubt plotting to make us even stinkier tomorrow.

Witness No. 4: The Soap Bar

Is today the day? Am I finally being unwrapped?

Yes! Baby, I’ve been waiting months to finally be used. And now that I’m looking up at my owner, I couldn’t have been bought by a better person. Look at those supple booty cheeks… Those big eyes… Those boobies! And I get the honour of cleaning her to perfection?

There’s a bit of sweat on her, but that’s natural. I can’t wait to be rubbing against her skin and…

Ooh-ho! That tickles! She’d better loosen her grip before she breaks me in two. The water’s running, the curtains are pulled back, and I am ready to—

Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa!

This is not the mild stink I expect armpits to have. This is something so intense that there don’t exist words to describe it. I did not sign up for this. I demand to be put down while another soap bar cleans her.

Wait, what can I do? I can’t control my movements. All I can do is silently scream as she drags me through the swamp that is her armpit sweat. I can feel its grime clinging to my smooth surface. Gross! Did I just pick up a hair? Has she not shaved these things?

Down I go, now scrubbing her chest and stomach. Her boobs aren’t so bad.

But now she’s bringing me to a place I don’t even belong: inside her butt. Yes, I’m a soap bar whose job it is to clean places. But any rational person would lather their hands and use those to freshen up their posterior. Why must she shove my tip in her sweaty ass? It doesn’t help that her walls are clenching every three seconds.

“I wonder how deep it can go.”

She’d better not!

And she’s doing it, of course. Half of my body is now plunging in and out of her butt, drowning in my own soapy bubbles.

I’m free. Now what? What could be possibly worse than everything else she’s done so far?

“Alright, let’s get these feet.”

Feet… She can’t be serious.

Oh, she is. She has brought her right foot up, and I’m heading in its direction. Pray for me.

The smell… It’s more potent than I had anticipated. The girl is scrubbing me so hard against her sole that it’s like she’s forgotten that I’m a soap bar, not a pumice stone. It’s normal for soap to eliminate one’s foul odour, not be covered in it. My fabulous pumpkin spice scent is melting away from the heat of her feet. Yet she’s got the nerve to laugh!

Unfortunately the sole isn’t the only part of the foot I have to clean. The toes remain. They can’t be as bad as… Oh no!

“Jeez, I gotta scrub really hard to get that jam outta there!”

Her foot has consumed so much of me that she’s able to yank me back and forth through a crevice of grime. The greater her grubby toes spread, the more the smell amplifies. I’m now leaking more suds than normal, crying from the dreadful stink.

It burns so bad! Make it end!

If only somebody could hear my plea. Since nobody is coming to my rescue, I’ve no choice but to cling on for life. Or better yet, give up and accept the sweet embrace of death.

And perhaps it’s coming. I’m a fraction of the size I was at the beginning of this shower. Now I’m on the bathtub floor, and I can see myself drifting past her big toes. The slurping sounds indicate that I’m heading towards the great drain. Provided I don’t get stuck, that’s it. I’m in the clear! Daddy, take me!

“Gotcha!”

No! I’m back between these toes again. Now she’s setting me on a platform.

“Gotta have some soap last me until tomorrow,” she says, winking at me. “You’re gonna adore cleaning all the paint and dirt from my feet.”

My life cannot end sooner. A few minutes have passed, so she’s stepped out the shower and left me in the darkness, where I will continue to sob until morning arrives.