Four years ago, Jason sat alone in the holding cell, trying to process everything that was going on. The last few days had flown by in a breeze. His attorney had told him that leniency would likely be shown if he pleaded guilty, which he did. It wasn’t as if he had much of a defence, he was caught red-handed, with around seven witnesses seeing his face. He was bang to rights. What he did hope for was that his crime was petty enough to land jail time, rather than the alternative. His lawyer thought so too, until he came back from discovery with the prosecuting attorney to find that the shopkeeper whose store Jason and his friends robbed had suffered a stress related heart attack, scuppering any chance of the crime being seen as ‘petty’. Despite this, Jason still pleaded guilty; in the hope, the sentence would at least be commuted.
Jason could recall the feeling of utter despair as the judge laid down her verdict. She condemned his actions as that of a coward and said in spite of the gun being unloaded, it still caused distress to all involved in the robbery. She therefore condemned him to three years as a Humie. Three years, he would spend three years as a thing, as a belonging, having his humanity stripped and being used by some stranger. Jason was utterly still as the bailiff led him back to his cell. The sentence was due to be actioned in a few days’ time; in the meantime, Jason would be prepared for the next three years of his life.
The first visitor he had in this time was a scientist from Troika Industries, the company behind Humies, who explained to Jason exactly what was going to happen to him. His body would be broken down into energy and stored in a box, lovingly called the ‘Humie Box’. A control pad, similar to a tablet, will be connected to the box, which can control what happens to the energy. The control panel could change the energy into matter in the form of an object or equal or lesser mass than his original body. Jason’s mind would then be mapped to the object in an appropriate manner, with all five senses remaining intact, he would be aware of everything while in inanimate form.
In any solid form, he’d be unable to sleep, remaining conscious the entire time; the break from this would be when he was back in the box, where his mind would rest. He was told that any object he was changed into would basically be indestructible. Nothing that came away through use; i.e. a pencil or eraser, would work properly. And I couldn’t be changed into food. The scientists had found that ingesting a Humie could be fatal to both the Humie and the person eating. The scientist told him that research showed that Humies are most commonly used as clothing, but also have been used as tools, electronics, appliances and other less conventional things. He even recalled somebody who was and still is being used as a bicycle.
Knowing what would happen to him took away part of the element of the unknown, but the biggest unknown still eluded him. Who would take possession of him? He was told there was a waiting list and he’d be given to the person at the top of it, but that was all he was told. His next visitor was someone who themselves had spent a year as a Humie. It turns out he was one of the first to be sentenced under the Carmichael Act and now spent time speaking to people who were due to undergo the process.
His name was Andrew and a couple years back he’d been involved in some credit card fraud. This earned him a year’s sentence as a Humie. He ended up the property of some rich family, for the entire year he was basically a toy box for their youngest daughter. He told me he was at different times a doll, a plush bear, a set of building blocks and even a pram. Jason asked him what it felt like to which Andrew replied that it was weird having no control over your own body and being in non-humanoid forms really freaked him out, but time spent in the box formless, was zen and he looked back on those times as the best. Jason wondered if Andrew had gotten off easy with his time, being played with by a little girl seemed harmless enough. The rumours he’d heard about other people who’d been sentenced to time as a Humie continued to worry him.
Jason’s final visitor before the fateful day was an intimidating looking man who called himself Warden Price. The Warden was in charge of the Humie punishment for the state, and Jason could see he was not a man to cross. He was a tall well-built man, wearing a suit that looked perfectly tailored to his frame. He looked to be in his mid to late fifties, wearing an expression of contempt when he looked at Jason, an expression he guessed was used on all prisoners in his care. The Warden’s mouth was partially covered by a long silver moustache, which hung down from his nose.
“Tomorrow’s the big day,” The warden wheezed, holding his belt. He’d insisted on making Jason sit while he stood over him. “You’ll be taken from this place to the Troika facility where the Humification process will begin. Once complete you will be presented to your owner for the next three years. This owner has been briefed on the length of your sentence and your crime, but not your identity. They will then decide what to do with you, as you will be then, legally, their possession. They are prohibited from selling you during this time, but permission can be sought to loan you out. If you are lost by your new owner, facility staff have the means to return you to your box. If your box is lost, facility staff can track it. Do you understand?”
The Warden rattled through his list as if he had said it thousands of times previous, which Jason assumed he had. Jason was lost for words; he just looked up at the Warden and nodded.
“One last thing. Once your sentence is complete, you will be delivered back to the facility and returned to your normal form. It is imperative to point out that any attempts to track down your owner following your sentence will be considered a re-offence. Mitigating circumstances will be considered if such a reunion is deemed accidental, but you are advised on the strongest terms to never see your owner again, after the sentence is complete.”
To Jason the end of his sentence seemed to long into the future. He may as well be describing what would happen in the next century. Once again, Jason nodded his understanding and the Warden turned and left Jason alone with his thoughts. That night he didn’t sleep a wink, unable to rest while he knew the next day that he wouldn’t be human anymore.
It was early in the morning when they came for him. He was bundled into the back of a van and driven to a local Troika facility. There he was led by the Warden and two bailiffs to processing. The room looked pristine and sterile, in the middle of the room was a large MRI style machine. Next to it, inputting data into the device was the scientist who had visited Jason earlier, who smiled when he saw Jason arrive.
“Aah, you’re early,” he beamed, clapping his hands together eagerly, “no matter, no matter. We’re just about ready”
Jason thought this guy took a little too much pleasure in his work, as he quickly turned back to his display and finalised some details. The other day, men had come and taken all sorts of data from Jason; his height, his weight, arm span even his blood pressure.
“Does he know what the process is?” The scientist asked the warden.
“It’s been explained to the prisoner.” The warden replied curtly. Jason started to panic, this was really happening. He wanted nothing more than to escape, but knew it was futile. His arms were bound and the bailiffs were armed. Any resistance might end up with him with an even longer sentence, or worse, permanent.
Jason was placed onto the platform and shackled in. No escape now. The scientist pressed a button on the side of the machine and Jason was slowly fed into it. His last sight before being totally engulfed inside the contraption was the scientist mouthing ‘Good Luck’ to him. The machine was sealed and a loud noise filled Jason’s head. His body started to vibrate and he found himself no longer bound, not by shackles, not by anything. He had no form anymore - he was shapeless. A second noise filled his mind and he felt himself get pulled away from the place where he was and confined in a small space. The noises stopped and Jason guessed the process had finished. He was now a Humie, awaiting an owner.
Andrew was right about one thing, being in the shapeless form had a weird calming effect. Jason was terrified about what was happening, and petrified about whom his owner would be, but ultimately couldn’t get worked up like this. He felt mild jostling of his container, but lost all sense of time. Which is why it didn’t feel like any time at all before he was activated and was ready to meet his owner.
Jason found himself in a huge room, lying on carpeted floor. His new form felt small, very small and flat. He could feel limbs poke out of his body in strange directions and they met in the middle. As expected, Jason could not budge an inch like this, he was totally inanimate. Jason was struggling to think what he might be when he saw her for the first time. His new owner.
She knelt above him, even kneeling looking like a titan. She was pretty enough, long light brown hair tied back into a ponytail. Her face was twisted into a sneer as she examined Jason closely. He wanted to shout, to scream, but had no voice. He was completely at this woman’s mercy. He didn’t know what he was, what she intended to do with him, but from the expression on her face, he didn’t think it would be good.
“Oh wow, it actually worked!” She smiled, standing up, making Jason feel even smaller. “Okay robber-boy here’s the deal. I’m not supposed to tell you my name, so you can call me Mistress in our time together. Not that I’ll be able to tell what you call me - it won’t matter. I don’t care what you think about me, because the opinion of a Humie is absolutely worthless. You’re a thing now. My thing. And you’ll spend your time as my thing beneath my feet. I’ve been wondering what to do with you since I got told you were mine, and making you into my personal shoe collection seems the best option.”
The bottom fell out of Jason’s world as he realised what he was. He was a sandal! A woman’s sandal. The next three years, he’d be nothing but footwear for this woman. He couldn’t see her feet from this angle, though he strained himself trying to see. Almost reading his mind, the woman lifted her foot above Jason, pointing her toes at him.
“You’d better get used to this sight, shoe-boy” she taunted, “This is your life for the next three years.”
Her toe poked Jason’s new body and he had his first taste of his Mistress’s foot. As she moved her foot into him, he was distressed to find that no matter where her foot touched him he could always taste it. At once, she slammed her foot down, pressing down on Jason flat, Jason felt as though he had just been crushed as he felt giant fingers manipulate his limbs, what he now knew to be straps. She fastened his buckle and Jason was now secure on his owner’s foot. He was then horrified to discover that he could feel, smell and taste everything on the other shoe too, as his owner repeated the process. She was now fully wearing him; he was nothing more than a pair of sandals.
Jason was a little relived to find his vision seemed to be focussed on top on of his straps, so he wasn’t left in darkness. That relief didn’t last long as his Mistress took her first step wearing him. If he still had a stomach, he’d have thrown up. He moved at a speed that he never could when he was human. Relatively speaking of course, he knew that he could only have been going as far as his Mistress’s leg carried him, but in his new, far smaller, frame it was like travelling at a rate of knots.
Seconds later, he realised where she was taking him to - a full-length mirror. There for the first time, Jason got a true look at his new body. At first, he was confused, not used to looking into a mirror and not seeing a face reflected. Instead, he was faced with the lower half of a woman’s legs, the legs adorned with black leggings, which stopped halfway up her calf. And on her feet were a pair of thong sandals; modest looking with several black straps came out of a thin sole and were wrapped around the feet. Seeing this, Jason got a sense of himself; he could feel his straps cling tightly to the foot. He watched as his mistress drummed her toes and he felt the impact of each individual toe strike back down on his body. He couldn’t deny reality; he was just a simple pair of sandals now.
“You look so good on my feet” Jason heard his mistress coo. He tried to look up at her, but got a sense of vertigo when he did, so massive was she to him. “Don’t worry if you don’t like the way you look. I’ve got plenty more ideas for you to come”
He saw his mistress turn around, then lost sight of the mirror as he was carried away. This was it; the next three years of his life would be this. Used as nothing but a shoe, by an uncaring bitch. Desperate for something to cling to, the only thing he could think of was every second in this hell, was another second closer to the end of his sentence.
***
Jason had never longed for rest more than he did at this point. He was lying it utter darkness, pressed up to his Mistress’s warm foot, having not moved in over an hour. The conditions were perfect to just drift away, but his stupid body wouldn’t let him. He felt every single inanimate second of his existence beneath this bitch; to make things worse it had been over two weeks since he was in his box.
Jason had been a Humie for seven months now, and to say he was used to his lot in life was to give his lot a bit too much credit. He was used to being stepped on, used to being dangled, to stinking of foot sweat every evening. But he couldn’t say he was content, he hated every second of his Humie life. He just had no means of complaint or protest. There was nothing he could do about it except lie there and take it, but this was just pushing his limits.
A couple weeks back, his Mistress had used the box to change Jason into a pair of ballet flats. Apparently, he was designer and had a market value in four figures. Jason didn’t care for fashion and was at a loss how anyone could pay thousands for a simple pair of shoes. She told him he was made of satin, not that it made a difference. He felt the same as when she turned him into a pair of Crocs, just a shoe. So proud was his Mistress of Jason’s new form, she refused to change him back, keeping him out of his box, so he stayed in his current form.
No more relaxing time spent formless in his box, now he lay unawakening through the night, totally motionless, it was driving him insane. When daylight finally came, he could hardly enjoy it, as soon his Mistress’s foot was inside of him. He couldn’t decide what was worse, being worn or being left out. By now, Jason's Mistress had figured out how to change his point of view, so now he no longer looked out from the top of his shoe body, but from his insole. This stopped the motion sickness he got when she walked in him, but now he had the horror every day of seeing his Mistress’s foot close in on him.
For the whole two weeks, his Mistress would go out wearing Jason, show him off to whomever would listen, and when at a loose end, dangle him from her toes. He’d been in one form for so long now that the smell from the feet clung to him; he could feel his body had warped around her feet. He began to wonder if she was planning on keeping him like this for the rest of his sentence. That was until the magnificent day when she read online that the control panel would allow you to ‘bookmark’ certain forms. She had kept Jason as he was as she was worried she wouldn’t be able to find the same form again. She complained loudly that there was almost too much choice in the control panel. Jason wished he had that problem. He had all choice taken from him when the process started, now he was less than a person, just a possession.
It was blessed relief when finally he was back in his box, formless once more. He couldn’t see anything, feel anything, or smell anything. He was just existing - it was peaceful. That was until he was pulled out once more to be a pair of wedges. No peace for the wicked, he thought as once more, he saw a massive foot hover above him.
***
Jason had always wanted to travel, to go to exotic climes, to relax on a beach and watch the day go by, but not like this. He was in Rio de Janeiro, the famous Copacabana beach soaking up rays enjoying a perfect view of Sugarloaf Mountain. The only problem was he was doing so as a flip-flop. He was acutely aware of his Mistress’s foot beside him, completely dwarfing him, as she lay sunbathing. Her job entailed travelling the world and writing about her experiences, which seemed like a dream job to Jason, but he often heard her complain about it to her friends.
During his time with her, he’d been all over and all sorts of footwear in that time; winter boots in Canada, geta shoes in Japan, jutti in India to name a few. It wasn’t the way Jason wanted to see the world, though he mostly only saw the inside of hotel rooms, so relatively speaking he was practically sightseeing here in Rio. He couldn’t relax though, knowing at any moment, his Mistress may decide to scoop him back onto her feet and traipse around in him in the hot sand. Jason tried to enjoy what was a rare moment of quiet in his current life, but once again was too anxious about what his Mistress may do next.
It was a cause for some celebration, however muted, that his Mistress had told him a few days back that he’d been in her ‘care’ for eighteen months now. He was halfway through his sentence and somehow still had his sanity, he thought he was a goner when he found out he’d be a glorified shoe cabinet for some spoilt brat for three years.
He was now over the hump, he had made it eighteen months, he could make it the rest of the way. For the first time in a long time, he could see light at the end of the tunnel. He was as close to content as it was possible to be as a sentient flip-flop. So much so, that he wasn’t even that annoyed when the foot behind did eventually scoop him up and grip him between her toes. As his Mistress walked to join some acquaintances playing volleyball, Jason just tried to focus on the big picture.
***
The wind got knocked out of Jason for the 150th time that minute, as his Mistress entered her third lap of the park. He thought he preferred it when she used him as socks rather than sneakers way back at the beginning of his sentence. Back then, she had a pair of lucky running shoes, so told Jason he’d just have to make do with being her socks. Being softer and less rigid, Jason didn’t think it was so bad, in spite of how much wetter it made him. But annoyingly, his Mistress broke her ‘lucky’ running shoes, so Jason was brought in to replace them.
It’d been a while since his Mistress had mocked him by saying how long he’d been her Humie. Jason wondered if it was because her time with him was running out. He didn’t know the exact time of year, but it was cold out right now, and Jason had overheard her saying something about losing Christmas weight. If that were true, and it was January, then Jason would only have around three more months of this hell to endure. It was little wonder she didn’t tell him, it clearly meant a lot to his Mistress to own a Humie, as a convenience, a power trip and a status thing. She bragged about Jason to all her friends, occasionally allowing them to try Jason on, but not for more than a couple minutes.
Jason found the experience of being on other people’s feet a little weird, not least because he felt he could tell the difference between them and his Mistress’ feet. She had a mole on the side of her right foot, that, when he was a particularly tight shoe she was wearing bare foot, he could always feel. So when he couldn’t feel that, it was a little weird. He was very weirded out by how well he knew his Mistress’s feet, he could tell, broadly, from her toe scrunches or twitches what she was feeling at any one time. When this was all over, he never wanted to see another foot as long as he lived. Before his sentence, they were just things that were there, now they were the stuff of nightmares. He knew some people were sexually attracted to feet, he sometimes wondered if one of those guys were in his situation; whether they’d be put off by feet after three years.
He’d gotten used to so much of his life now; he knew going back to being human again would be hard to get back used to. Having agency, having the simple ability to move, having a constant body, all these things that he had taken for granted, he’d have back. Nothing could surprise him anymore about his life. While her running shoe, his insole was getting thick with sweat, but the taste and smell no longer bothered him. She’d stepped in dog shit, but that must have been the hundredth time she’d done it. He certainly wouldn’t miss the misery his life had become these last couple years, but he knew he wouldn’t adjust to being back to normal again quickly.
***
He knew the form he was in, out of all the forms he’d been this was the one that stuck out to him the most, because it was the first. He was back as those thong sandals; his Mistress had changed him into all those years ago. In fact, it was his first time in that form since that day. He’d been practically every other type of shoe since then, even some other types of thong sandal, but this one in particular really resonated. He would never forget the reflection he saw that day, of himself strapped to his Mistress’s feet, feeling her weight atop him, feeling his straps hold her foot in place on top of him. And he think he knew why he was back in this form. Today was the day.
Three years had passed and he was going to be human again. He hadn’t expected his Mistress to be sentimental enough to change him into the first shoes she’d ever keyed into his control pad, but here he was, once again, his straps firmly gripping her feet, buckled in. It had been a while since his Mistress had addressed him directly. For the first two years, she couldn’t put him on without her mocking him, belittling him, then the gaps between mocking’s became greater and the last few months, she’d barely even looked at him.
Part of him was grateful for it, but another part missed them. Being insulted by his Mistress reminded him that despite appearances, he was a person. A living, thinking person. Now it was as if he was just an object to her. He wondered how much of that was her getting used to having a Humie and how much of it was resentment that she would have to give him up. While she didn’t talk directly to him, she had talked about him to friends. She’d complained that it was unfair that some people got Humies from the waiting list on life sentences, and that she only got a few years. But that was just the luck of the draw. Back when he was awaiting the change, the warden had told him that he would be given to whomever was top of the list, she should just count her lucky stars she got someone with three years rather than one or less.
Jason’s thought was interrupted when he felt his buckle be undone and he was plucked from the foot and lifted up. For the first time he was face to face with his Mistress, without her looking down on him. He thought she’d have been really pretty if it wasn’t for the torture the last three years had been.
“Well shoe-boy, this is it!” She sighed. “This is goodbye. I’d like to say you’ve been a good Humie, but good Humies last forever. It really isn’t fair that I have to give you up, but if I don’t I’ll end up in a Humie box and be as pathetic as you are.”
Part of Jason now wanted her to keep him, just to see her be dragged off to the Troika facility and be put through exactly what he’d been through. Fat chance though. She lived a charmed life, from what Jason had seen, everything got handed to her on a silver platter. The way things were she’d get the easiest Humie life possible or even just let off on a warning.
“So it’s with great regret that we must part ways,” she continued, “but don’t worry. I have a feeling we’ll see each other again someday.”
And it was that thought that was whizzing around Jason’s mind as he was once more in his box. Did she not know about the no contact rule? He didn’t like the vaguely threatening look in her eye, though he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. He’d hardly seen her face; he got a better read of her emotions from the movement of her toes than the look on her face.
The next time Jason was out of the box, he was human again. Excitedly trying to move, Jason fell flat down on his face, his legs not responding in time to his mind’s command. He was helped up by the nurses on hand and was told that due to the length of his sentence, he would need a week’s stay in the recovery ward, but was told he was no longer considered a prisoner.
During this week, Jason once more had a visit from the Warden who came to interview him. He was warned once more about no seeking out his owner, but Jason assured him that was the last thing he wanted to do. The Warden seemed satisfied with that and Jason’s likelihood to reoffend. Jason felt he was never likely to reoffend from the second he was arrested, but the three years he’d spent had solidified that in his mind. With Ex-Humies, if they reoffend, no matter how minor, they will be re-Humified, though this time in the charge of a different owner.
Jason turned down the chance to speak with therapists about his time served, not wanting to relive it in anyway. He just wanted to move on with his life, and had planned to move to the other end of the country. Although he couldn’t be sure that anywhere he moved would be further away from his Mistress than where he was now, given the Humie punishment was done in State divisions, he felt moving out of state would be the best option.
As soon as his motor function had fully returned and he had passed a medical, Jason was discharged and immediately set about moving a long way away. It took working three jobs and two months, but eventually Jason had enough to get himself set up in a town four states over. There, he thought, he could finally move on with his life, never to let another soul know what had happened to him while a Humie, and while he could focus his mind fine while awake, in his nightmares he often saw his last sight as a shoe; his Mistress’s evil looking face, promising they’d meet again.