I got myself some garish new sandals from the market. They were black leather but they had that perfect shine in them. In black how much have I dreamt to get that sparkle from the humans! They were real cushy and would make your feet comfortable in them as if they were made to caress the aching feet of their masters. The first time I put them on at the shop, I did not find this a perfect comfort. But after the purchase they seemed to mould themselves according to the contour of my feet. Whenever I would put them on, someone was bound to comment o their beauty. I felt them stiffening at this and would think of them as a proud belonging of mine. I gaily wore them to every part of the world I went to. They had become a part of my personality. They were very ear to me. Actually, they were more precious than their price. Why should they not have been? They were filling their purpose so well. One day I wore them to the mosque. All prayers long I had the thought of them lying outside. Finally I got up and moved back. To my horror, they were not present there where I had put them to nestle for a while. In anxiety and fear I moved about in the mosque and finally started my journey back home bare footed. This was the first time I cried to God for them and felt their loss the most.