Farewell to Mr. Sneakerhead

December 6, 2007
By
We are assembled here today, to mourn the death of a very significant pair of shoes. His name was Mr. Sneakerhead. Mr. Sneakerhead was born on January 16th, 2006 and died just before the New Year. He was a very devoted pair of athletic shoes. Wherever I was, he was right there with me. Wherever I went, he followed. I could always count on Mr. Sneakerhead to be there for me. Whether I was sitting there relaxing, briskly walking around the mall, or running as long and hard as I could, I could always count on Mr. Sneakerhead to never leave me. He was more loyal than a blind man’s dog, more enduring than a 10th grade English teacher, and the only blemish in his perfection was that his life was cut so short.
Mr. Sneakerhead was a pair of Converse RNS shoes. He was a coalescence of red, black, and white. These are very rare color markings for a member of his breed. Although you may surmise that he was a typical red black and white pair of shoes, he was in fact very different. Mr. Sneakerhead was a distinct cast of red. Contrary to all of his family members, his red was constantly effulgent. He never achromatized, and was everlastingly just as bright as if he had just come fresh from the factory, until the day that he died. It was as if he had a light bulb inbred under his skin, which kept him perpetually radiating unobscured light that filled the room, anywhere we went.
Mr. Sneakerhead, the most loyal shoe ever, was there no matter what the circumstances were. If there was delightful weather and it was a beauteous day, or pouring rain, he was there. If it was freezing cold, burning hot, or just rite, he was also there. If there was extreme wind, mud, water, dirt, or any other possible annoyance that you could possibly imagine, Mr. Sneakerhead would never leave my side. He was the most loyal friend I have ever known.
One fateful day, Mr. Sneakerhead and I were out for a stroll. As I was walking, I felt Mr. Sneakerhead’s laces clanking around, like change in your pocket. We stopped walking, and as I bent down to tie his laces, I noticed something terrible. He had a hole starting to rip through his skin. I asked him if he was okay, and he assured me that it was nothing. It was foolish of me to believe him, and keep on walking. He was just trying to be brave. Meanwhile, I did not know that the hold was just getting bigger and bigger, and eating out his insides. We went on like this for a few more days. When we both finally realized the magnitude of this injury, if was too late. At first it was a small wound that could have been fixed with a simple mending procedure that would have taken five minutes. Instead, we delayed the situation until it was too late, and let a small rip into a full blown and deadly hole. It was horrific news for us both and we were each heartbroken.
Mr. Sneakerhead and I were such close friends. I could not just throw him out like he was some pair of old useless shoes. We had too close of a relationship. Instead of throwing him out, I kept him around the house. He was too worn out and hurt to be worn, but had enough fight left in him not to just call it quits. We stayed together for a few more weeks, and enjoyed each others company. However, one day we sat down and mutually opted that it was in his best interests that we say goodbye, and that he leave this world and move on to a better place. We bade each other farewell and hoped to see each other somewhere else later on in life or death. It was a dismal day, and it was such a tragedy to see such a stupendous pair of shoes to go. Mr. Sneakerhead was one in a million.





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