Post by starcabbage on May 14, 2006 7:11:19 GMT -5
The tale of the seperated socks (It might make you cry with sadness)
The tale of the seperated socks
Life in the sock draw for socks was almost perfect bliss. Apart from the claw that reached in to remove a couple, stretch them out, wear the stitching down a little, and eventualy send them for a long soak. This was a rare occourance for the average sock as the sock village was filled with members of the sock comunity. There were old socks with holes in, new white socks with odd designs and funny patterns on the side and sporty socks which were think and warm to hold.
The grey, dry dust lining the corners of the sock draw became disturbed as light and air soothed past it. The socks starred secretly into the blinding light above them, none daring to draw breath. The claw reached down from the light on time as it did everyday to snatch up a long sleek black couple who had started to think that they were being picked on. The claw(being clumsy round this time of the morning) had picked up more than its usual quota, for underneath the couple laid a baby sock adorned with dancing clowns and pink elephants. If the owner of the claw had bothered to see the extra sock they had grasped, they would see the clowns crying in fear as they left their world and their only true love behind.
The left sock sat frozen in disbelief at the fate of the right sock being sent far away from their world.
The right sock was abandonded when the owner of the claw realised her mistake, but she was in a hurry and the sock was thrown into the bottom of the wardroab. Regular clothes are not at all like socks. They live solitary existances, hoping beyond hope to make their owner proud. The only clothes that would talk to the right sock was a pair of old pajama bottoms, but they were half insane from a lifetime of use and had never heard of "The claw". The right sock spent its days trying to call to the other socks for help but to no avail, it cried its heart out in longing for the left sock but no one would comfort him. The sock became a shell of his former self in the nightmare of isolation that surrounded him.
One day as the right sock sat in its misreble silence he felt the light stinging about his cotton, the dust clearing from his stithing. The claw was back! The clowns almost danced with happiness as the claw reached down to pick him up. The sock felt emotions again, happiness, joy, relief all flowing through him. He could smell the other socks home was within his grasp. He landed softly on the smooth dirty surface of the draw and looked around him.
All about him were grey socks. Nothing but a stationary wall of grey socks. No colour, no life, no comunity, just plain boring grey socks. The right clown-elephant printed sock fell back, and sank deeper and deeper into the abyss of its missery.
Mike did not have any problems after he bought the grey socks for everyone, never again could someone laugh at him for owning odd socks.