Sasha K. Lotnikee

United States

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Where's the Other Pair?

July 27, 2014

PROMPT: In the House


You fling open your drawer, anticipating what's about to happen: a red sock, a pink sock, a navy blue knee high sock, a tiny Hello Kitty never-worn sock, a no-show liner, a black-and-white athletic sock, a orange polka-dotted sock, a regular boring white sock... And yet after thirteen minutes (there's a watch ticking ferociously on your wrist), you can't find a match to the comfy purple puppies-and-unicorn socks in your hand that you really wanted to wear to school today. Hastily, you jam a yellow sunshine colored knee-high sock on your feet and hope for the best. At school, you walk down the hallway late. All the other kids are already hurrying to their lockers to prepare for second period. As they walk by, they scrunch up their noses, roll their eyes, snicker, and stick their tongue out at your socks. They have the 'what's-wrong-with-that-person' face, the 'weirdo-girl' face, the 'was-she-born-in-the-dump' face, and for the half-way decent person, 'um-is-that-girl-OK?' look. Oh, the hardships of a lost sock.

Behind the couch, underneath the bed, inside the closet, squished between the cracks of the dishwasher and wall, ripped apart to pieces by your slobbery dog, wedged between bedposts, stuck to the side of the cabinet with bubblegum, crumpled in the corner of a closet in your basement, lurking in crooks and crannies beneath the cobwebs in the laundry room, used as a bookmark for books stuffed on the bookshelf, in the trash can because of an accidental collision between the dumpster and somebody (Dad...ahem) carrying the washed, laundered, socks.

Smelly, dirty, with pieces of gum and dirt sticking to it; little crumbs and dust wedged between the toes... And for some reason, neither your mom or your older sister (who's always holed up in her room doing something anyway) won't let you up the second floor with them on. "They've been inside your cleats," they say. You guess they're right. Beads of sweat from your smelly feet have dripped onto the sock, soaking it in a pungent liquid. So you toss them somewhere. (-MISTAKE ALERT-MISTAKE ALERT-). You enjoy the rest of the day and go to bed. The next morning...

You fling open your drawer, anticipating what's about to happen: a red sock, a pink sock... Lost socks, lost socks. Without your socks, life is never the same.


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  • July 27, 2014 - 2:46pm (Now Viewing)

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