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Struggling uphill against the slope of the high heel, I looked up towards the shoe's opening.  My hands and feet found little purchase on the slick, soft and gray sole, emblazened with the designer's name in a light brown.  That color would make my naked, half-inch body hard to spot before my mom inserted her foot.

As I made my way higher, I gained a larger view of the room.  High above--seeminlgy miles away--I could see the hotel room's ceiling and light fixture.  Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the rumble of my mom's hair dryer in the bathroom, and I could smell the hot, steamy aroma of a recent shower and fruity, female bodywash. 

I sat down on the sole, closer to the top of the heel, to relax.  Breathing heavily--more from fear than physical exertion--I knew that I had to complete my task and get to the top before my mom was ready to leave for her conference meeting downtown.  Only near the top could she possibly spot me--and even then, I would have to dance and scream to get her attention. 

Picking myself up, I finished the uphill climb and rested against the back of the heel.  I had seen my mom wear this pair before, but thankfully not often.  The only odor was that of cloth sole and black leather. 

I briefly thought of the night before.  Getting a call from my mom, letting me know she was in town for a business conference.  Coming to this rather nice hotel earlier in the morning to visit her before my class at the university started later in the afteroon.  Bumping into a maid down the hall, almost knocking her over.  Asking her for the room's location.  Getting sprayed with a bottle by the maid after finding the correct room.  Unceremoniously tossed inside this shoe by the maid, after having shrunk in a matter of moments, while my mom was in the bathroom.

The maid probably took my clothing.  My only hope for rescue was for my mom to find me before she crushed me beneath her foot.


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