Now, focus all your attention c*mpletely on these boots. Look closely at this thick layer of bl*ck hard leather, look at the straight and upright outline of the boot shaft, and look at the deep anti-slip patterns engraved on the sole. This entire sole is wide and heavy, made of solid material, and it bears my entire weight. Each uneven pattern is a mark that will be placed on you. I am slowly pushing my legs into the boot shaft, the tight leather is against my skin, wrapping around my ankle, and fitting perfectly with the contours of my foot. When I finish putting on these boots, the warm air inside will be sealed in the boot cavity, slowly building up and accumulating a smell that belongs to me. When the sole lands near you, you will be able to clearly smell the scent that comes out through this layer of leather. You, this worm crawling out of the sewer, this mass of accumulated sludge, have no right to avoid all this. You can only stay quietly in the same place, raising your face buried in the ground, and passively waiting for my boots to arrive.

I stepped down slowly on the ground, the heavy sole landed heavily, and the dull vibration traveled through the ground to your feet. Did you hear the sound of the landing? This was just a gentle step, merely a tentative weight, but it already tilted the center of gravity of the entire space towards you. Remember, these boots themselves carry an oppressive . They are not just an outer layer, they are a part of me extending outward. All the is under my control. I am willing to step lightly, and it will only gently graze the ground; if I am willing to put all my weight down, this wide sole will c*mpletely cover your tiny mass of sludge, pressing you firmly to the ground. Don't have any thoughts? don't secretly imagine that there will be something to protect you. Nothing can protect the sludge in the sewer? nothing can pity a humble worm. Your fate has always been to stand under someone else's feet? to be looked down upon by the sole? to be crushed by the sole.

You must not think that as long as you don't make a sound and stay motionless there? you can avoid all the treatment? That's a ridiculous thought. Silence won't save you? nor will being quiet raise your status at all. Even if you keep your mouth tightly closed and don't make a single sound throughout? you are still just a dirty mass of sludge? still a pitiful worm? still not even as good as the dust particle that my sole lightly touches. The dust particle that adheres to the crevices of the sole's texture can follow my steps in all directions? follow this pair of boots across one patch of ground after another? having the honor of briefly attaching to me. But what about you? You have nothing. You can only stay fixed in this place? trapped in this small shadow? waiting for when I am willing to place the sole on you. Dust can temporarily attach to me? but you? you don't even have the qualification to be an attached object of the sole.

Now I lift my foot again? letting the wide sole hover directly above you? not too far? not too close? just right for you to clearly see the deep grooves in the sole? the fine wrinkles on the leather surface? and the thin floating dust in the crevices. You look closely at this bl*ck underside? imagine what it will feel like when this entire thick sole slowly sinks down? covering your entire body bit by bit. The front part of the boot will first touch you? the hard front leather will gently press against your back first? slowly exerting pressure downward? sliding along your back all the way to your waist side? and then slowly spreading out the entire sole? c*mpletely covering your entire body. I can slowly rotate my ankle, allowing those rough and deep lines to slowly rub back and forth on your body, gradually erasing the l*ttle bit of your self-deceived dignity that you think you have hidden away.

You should understand that through this thick leather layer, there is my foot, warm and with its own unique scent. It has been sealed inside the boot for a long time, emitting a strong smell, gradually spreading out from the gaps at the bottom of the boot, slowly enveloping you lying beneath. This is my exclusive scent, a smell that you, this l*ttle mudworm, are to accept. Many people have exhausted all their efforts but still haven't had the chance to get close even a l*ttle bit. But it's you, an insignificant insect, to stay under this smell. Don't frown at your face buried in the ground, don't have resentment in your heart. You have no right to be picky. The mud naturally grows in the dirty places, and insects are accustomed to the dark atmosphere. This l*ttle bit of smell that slowly spreads out from the boot is already a part of your passive acceptance.

I slowly lower the bottom of the boot, getting closer to your body, almost touching your back, but not c*mpletely pressing down yet. Now the entire shadow covering you comes from these two boots, from the weight hanging above your head. I can maintain this position for a long time, keeping you always beneath the sole of the boot, always feeling this fear of falling that hangs above your head. This l*ttle worm in the muddy ditch, this mass of sediment at the bottom of the water, has to live in this suspended and unresolved oppression all its life. The tiny existence you managed to wriggle out of, the fragile enough to be easily shattered, in front of this single boot is c*mpletely helpless. Perhaps you once fantasized that you could break free from the mud beneath your feet, could climb to a higher place to have a look, but look, just with my single boot hanging above you, has crushed all your hopes. The high place never belongs to the mud, never to the insect. The high place belongs only to those who can overlook everything, to me, wearing these heavy leather boots.

Look, now I slowly shift my weight forward a l*ttle, the front sole of the boot gently presses on the top of your shoulder, a thin layer of first falls down, allowing you to feel the hard touch of the leather against your body. I slowly rotate my ankle, the rough lines of the sole of the boot slowly rub away from your shoulder to both sides, one stroke after another, at a very slow pace, slow enough for you to clearly distinguish the sensation of each line passing over your body. I won't crush you all at once, that would be too boring. When dealing with a mass of mud or a small insect, the best way is to slowly apply weight, gradually letting you recognize your position, gradually making you understand that everything is under my control. I want to press down on your shoulder for a while longer, it will stay here for a long time; I want to shift the to your back, it will slowly slide down; all the decision-making power has never been in your hands, it has been c*mpletely in my feet, in these two boots.

Is it now that you slowly realize that you really can't do anything? You can only lie still on the ground, allowing the shadow to envelop you c*mpletely. You can't even be compared to that insignificant dust particle on the sole of the boot. That dust particle, just by accidentally getting caught in the lines, can briefly follow my steps and go far away. But you, even if you spend all your time, can only stay in this corner of being overlooked, can only be the mud and insect being examined by the sole of the boot.

Next, I will slowly lift this boot, temporarily removing the shadow covering you. Don't think this is a sign of letting you go, don't have this st*pid illusion. I'm just temporarily taking off these heavy leather boots, removing this layer of leather that separates us. Next, it's my bare feet that will approach you. Just a moment ago, there was a layer of hard leather separating us, and all the pressure was transmitted to you through an external object. But now, there is nothing to block it.

I slowly removed the bl*ck high-top leather boots and placed them aside. My warm feet were fully exposed. The thick and heavy smell accumulated in the boots for a long time now spread out freely and directly enveloped you, lying beneath. My foot slowly lifted up and hovered directly above yours. The warm skin was right on your head. The toes slightly spread out, and the broad big toe was the first to extend downward and gently land on your back. Now, it is no longer the cold and hard leather, but the warm skin, the true sensation belonging to me. The boots were just a tool to convey my will to you, but now, it is me facing you directly.

Feel it. This big toe gently presses against your back, slowly applying downward, gradually pushing you deeper into the cold ground. My foot slowly turned left and right, the broad and soft skin rubbed back and forth on your back. The other four toes slowly gathered in the middle, enclosing your entire body within the narrow cage formed by the toes, c*mpletely sealed in all directions. You have no space to evade at all. Even if you want to move a l*ttle bit, all around are my toes, firmly holding you like a clump of mud, trapping you as a helpless l*ttle bug with nowhere to escape.

Smell it. Now there is no leather barrier, the long-accumulated smell in the boots directly envelops you. This is the smell accumulated by those boots just now, now together with my bare feet, enveloping you all around. Many people avoid such smells, but this is something you, this clump of mud, are to accept. You have no choice but to stay quietly on the spot, allowing this smell to envelop your entire body. I can slowly move the big toe to the side of your cheek, the broad toe belly gently touching your cheek, the warm sensation brushing against your skin, allowing you to experience this reduced-dimensional pressure up close.

I slowly lowered the entire foot, the entire front foot covering your body c*mpletely. The separated toes slowly rubbed back and forth, one by one, slowly pressing your body. The current can be lighter than when the boots were on, or heavier than when the boots were on, all depending on my will. The boots would have a layer of hard outer skin as a boundary, but my foot has no separation, directly landing on your body. Every inch of the pressure is a straightforward declaration. Declaring that you are the sediment in the ditch, the bug hidden in the gutter, always inferior to the thin dust that my sole shakes off.

Look, even without the boots, nothing will change. Your humility will not disappear just because there is one less layer of leather, your insignificance will not be elevated just because you face my foot directly. From being viewed from the bottom by the boot sole, to being viewed from the bottom by my foot, from beginning to end, your position has never changed in the slightest. You were born to crawl beneath, born to be an object being examined and crushed. Don't imagine any turning point, don't secretly hope for any mercy. Mercy will never be bestowed upon the mud, nor will it favor a l*ttle bug.

I can slightly curl the toes, wrap them around your shoulders, and slowly press down, feeling your body tightly pressing against the ground. I can slowly move the foot, rolling along your waist and abdomen all the way to your calves. Each sliding motion crushes the l*ttle bit of resentment hidden in your heart. Whether it is the thick and textured sole of the boots or the warm and stretched bare feet, when they land on you, they are all the same, they are all high-ranking beings, weighing down a humble clump of mud.

Remember all the sensations that happened today. Remember the heavy, oppressive weight of those bl*ck high-heeled leather boots, remember the rough texture of the sole rubbing against your skin, remember the slow, lingering breaths coming from within the boot cavity; also remember the sensation of the warm soles enveloping you up close, remember the feeling of your toes trapping you in a cage with nowhere to escape. Don't try to erase these images from your mind; you can't do it. Every word I say is your epitaph. No one else will record your life, no words will write down your past for you. Only the sentence-by-sentence judgment I deliver to you at this moment will become the only mark left on your life.

You are still just the mud in the ditch, a l*ttle bug with nowhere to escape. From beginning to end, even a single grain of dust that fell from the sole of my boots is far more significant than you. The dust still had a moment of glory by clinging to me, but you, from start to finish, only deserve to quietly stay here beneath your feet, passively enduring everything that falls upon you, until everything returns to silence.

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