P.M. Delight (Socks XXI)

Rar stayed in the living room while Mom watched Oprah.
A pair of calloused furrowed hands, Dad's, held Rar, rubbing his tender spot. He put Rar on the back of the couch.
Dad put his calloused hands on Mom's shoulders, kneading.
"Ooh, Aah."
A shirt settled atop Rar, blocking his view. He could hear noises. Smacking, slurping, giggling. The couch was moving. What the hell was going on out there.
The shirt was removed from Rar.
Mom's hair was down on one side and she was laughing.
She told Dad that he still had it.
Rar wanted to see it.

On The Mend (Socks XX)

"Ever see Doc again? "
"Nope, but that's the way things work."
Lar and Nick talked all night and into the morning.
Lar learned new words. Purse, wallet, license, and keys just to name a few.
A slightly wrinkled version of the nice lady's hands clipped the excess string from Lar's toe and put him on the counter.
Mom took Rar to the living room turning on Guiding Light. With needle and thread she deftly repaired Rar's toe. Stitching and pulling and tying, it all felt so good to Rar.
The pain nearly gone, he knew he would be healed.

Rescue (Socks XIX)

When water poured in, Doc would float around, laughing and howling, settling in a different place.
One day a white sphere with red stitching bounded in and startled Nick. Next to come in was a long thin arm. The hand felt around, snatched Doc, and pulled him out. The hand came back, grabbed Nick, then finally the sphere.
Nick got put in a pocket with some dimes.
This made Lar laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Dimes? You hate dimes."
"I got traded for a candy bar right away."
"What's the point?"
"The point is Lar, be careful if you play Hedzurtales."

A Doc In The House (Socks XVIII)

Clunk.
Nick landed on a metal cylinder.
"Ouch."
"Sorry mister."
"That's Doctor, Doctor Pepper."
"Pleased to meet ya, Doc. I'm Nick Cole. How much you worth?" That was the first questions Nick asked anyone that would talk.
"Ten cents, five some places, and nothing other places."
Nick felt baffled , he was always worth five.
Nick tried talking to a shoe and a bottle cap, like most items they were both mute.
Once a smoldering tube dropped in. She talked until her red glow went out. Doc checked her, nothing could be done. They said a prayer for her soul.

Acrobatics (Socks XVII)

Nick liked to play a game called Hedzurtales. He would spin through the air so fast he would get dizzy, involuntary pinging. He tried to imitate the sound, but it wasn't very loud. Then he would land in a palm and quickly move to the back of a hand.
Sometimes he would end up in a different pocket after the game.
Once while playing Hedzurtales, houses going by on one side, cars on the other, Nick hit the thumb instead of the palm. Nick went flying, bouncing. He landed on a piece of metal, falling through one of the holes.

Trading (Socks XVI)

Nick had been lots of places. Bunches of times he had slid down a tunnel, falling into a pile of coins. Immediately, he would hear bumping noises nearby. Nick had the feeling that he had been traded for something. Nick said that Lar couldn't fit through the slot to the tunnel.
Nick got dropped in a tin cup once. Lar thought that sounded fun.
Nick's favorite thing was when a wrinkled hand would place him into a youthful, chubby hand. When that happened, he would be gripped tightly and directly traded for bubble gum.
"That would be cool," Lar said.

The Philosopher (Socks XV)

Much wisdom was gleaned from Nick, man of the world, round flat sage.
According to Nick:
1. Pennies are humble and useful. One can trade them for thoughts, a great value indeed.
2. Quarters, worth 25, never look down on the other coins.
3. Dimes are an enormous pain-in-the-ass.
3a. Being smaller, with a Napoleon Complex they constantly remind nickels of the
value difference.
3b. Dimes are bigots. They scorn pennies because of their color difference.
4. A now rare coin depicts a woman carrying something, Nick thought she carried a sack of
joe- we-ahs.
He didn't know any Bills personally.

A New Friend (Socks XIV)

The boys were folded and slid into a big leather pouch.
Lar worked his way to the bottom of the pouch trying to get away, Rar kept bitching about his toe.
Down there in the dark he met Nick Cole, an intelligent, gregarious fellow with stories.
Nick claimed to have been in circulation since 1973, whatever that meant. He professed to have a value of five, and could be traded for stuff. Lately he need more and more help to get the same kind of stuff. Maybe as a result of getting older.
Lar was confused by, yet liked Nick.

Surgery (Socks XIII)

Snip.
Rar felt pain. Pain in his toe. He screamed. He couldn't sense his brother. Where was Lar?
"LAR! LAR!"
"I'm right here," Lar calmed his twin.
"What happened?"
"We've been separated."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"I want to be with you, Lar."
"I think we'll stay together."
"That hurt like hell."
Lar had felt no pain. Not physical pain.
"Mom, look at this. I cut a hole in this one. Shit."
"That can be fixed."
"He's gonna be so pissed. Shit."
"I'll take it home and do it."
"Shit."
"I have grey thread, he'll never know."
"Thanks Mom. Shit."

Vocabulary lesson (Socks XII)

"Ding-dong"
"Anybody home?"
"Come in Mom."
The twins remained on the counter as Pretty Shanks and Mom sat at the table sipping from steaming cups, talking.
Pretty cried and Mom hugged her.
The vocabulary of the Gylegreys grew. That day they learned the words counselor, affair, lawyer, and asshole.
"Why are these socks on the counter?"
"I need to cut a thread holding the toes together."
"Let me help."
Mom held Lar. Rar was blissfully held by Pretty Shanks. Ignorant of the coming events, they could feel the tug at their toes.
They didn't until then, know the word scissors.

An Argument (Socks XI)

The Gylegreys spent the night on the arm of the couch and the next day, were carried back to the well lit room. They recognized some of the browns and blacks, but none of the unvoiced greys remained. They were carried back to the couch.
“Why the hell didn’t you return those today?”
“That color is discontinued.”
“Everything’s a chore for you, isn’t it?”
“I’ll fix it.”
"Ok Suzie Homemaker, I'm going to Phil's for a beer."
The twins were placed on the counter. Gentle hands pulled them apart so that the single string conjoining their toes became slightly taut.

Fascination (Socks X)

"These are good socks, I'll exchange them tomorrow."
"Get the same color. Think you can get that right?"
Footsteps left the room, a door slammed, a car started.
The soft hands hung the twins on the arm of the couch. Lar on one side, Rar on the other while the nice lady read a book. When she curled her feet up on the couch Rar got a good look at her ankles. He named her Pretty Shanks.
While reading Pretty Shanks fell asleep, giving Rar ample time to admire her ankles, toes, heels, soles, and arches. Rar was in love.

The Insult (Socks IX)

On a warm, sunny day the rough hands shredded the paper band surrounding the brothers. The single string between their toes prevented him from completely separating them.
Holding Lar by the heel, Rar dangling, swinging in a circle, the man said, "What the hell kind of shoddy crap do you buy?"
The brothers flew across the room and landed on the nice ladies lap.
"If you're gonna buy second rate shit like that, don't bother." The deep voice spat.
Rar was pissed. The man evidently didn't know top quality. Lar ignored the man. The man evidently didn't know top quality.

Christmas (Socks VIII)

The delicate hands covered the twins in festive colored paper then put them in a soft enclosure. They felt a kinship to the enclosure. Like being safe in mother's arms.
Surrounded by the smells of mints, chocolate, and pine, music played almost constantly. Lar liked the joyful music, but Rar had heard enough the first week.
The day came when a pair of rough hands released the twins from their colored paper tomb and tossed them atop a green sweater. A pair of boxers soon covered them.
After an hour the soft hands placed the twins in the top drawer.

Genesis and Exodus (Socks VII)

Abruptly, Lar and Rar became conscious, a prickly, binding sensation in their toes. In a pile of others of their kind, they talked. The others did not.
Youthful, yet calloused hands picked up Lar and one of the voiceless, but a string conjoined the twins at their toes. The mute was dropped back on the pile. Folded together, a paper band cinched the twins.
The twins experienced cardboard boxes, saltwater smells, road noises, and finally a well lit room. They were handled, compared, to browns, blacks, or whites. But always rejected, until...
Really soft hands touched, caressed, and chose them.

Three Sixty Degrees (Socks VI)

After months of dinners and pig noises with Ms. Stubbly Lar and Rar Gylegrey could hear arguments. Grunter, as Rar called him, threatened to leave. This worried the brothers, they would not see Pretty Shanks anymore. Then an errant toss separated the twins. Lar got back to the drawer, but not Rar.
One day there was yelling outside the drawer. The drawer flew open and the socks and underwear were removed and put in a cardboard box. All except Lar, he was thrown back in. Grunter said "Where's my other grey argyle?"
Lar was in the empty drawer alone, crying.

Settling The Score (Socks v)

There were many other dinners with Ms Stubbly. Most times the Gylegrey brothers rested on the floor while the fornicators made their stupid noises.
Once Lar got to stay on the living room floor, but Rar had to rub against those chubby ankles. Man did her feet stink.
That was all Rar could take, he intended revenge.
The next time Pretty Shanks cleaned them and put them in the drawer Rar flew into action. He grabbed a loose sliver from the drawer and shoved it down his middle.
The splinter stuck in the arch of the butthead's right foot.
Justice.

Interloper (Socks IV)

Rar was surly. He preferred to warm the right foot, the left had a creepy bunion, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the other ankles under the table.
Had they stayed under the table, he would have been only slightly irritated. The man had forced the Gylegreys to rub around under the covers with those thick, unshaven ankles. He should have had the decency to put them on the floor while he grunted and snorted with Ms Stubbly. Rar muttered, "Why won't he let us rub around with Mrs. Pretty Shanks?" They both liked the noises Pretty made.

A Casting Change (socks III)

Lar and Rar went everywhere together, board meetings, parties, even the gym. They stayed in the locker while the Tube brothers took over. They really liked going to dinner. They both liked the nice smooth ankles on the other side of the table, but Rar was infatuated. He called her Mrs. Pretty Shanks. Rar got most excited when he got tossed in the hamper. He knew that soon she would wash, dry, fold, and put him in the drawer. One day at dinner Rar was quiet and moody. The other ankles under the table weren't as smooth, not as pretty.

Rar gets lost (socks II)

Lar Gylegrey missed his twin bother. They worked together, keeping the feet warm, stopping the shoes from causing a blister, or soaking up sweat. A month ago they went flying across the room. Lar went into the basket, Rar fell behind the dresser. That lazy son-of-a-bitch saw it and didn’t rescue Rar. Now he say’s that the nice lady lost him. He’s just trying to pick a fight.
When she pulled Lar from the hamper he tried to tell her that Rar was missing, but he got folded up in a pair of pants and she couldn’t hear him.

Life With the Dust Bunnies

2-25-07
I heard you yelling at her, you said "where's my other grey argyle?" Then you called her names and made her cry. You thought that she lost me in the laundry, didn't you? I'm here behind the dresser, dumb ass. You missed the basket. That was a month ago, remember?
Now, I don't mind keeping your feet warm, that's my job, but you leave her alone. I like her. You're probably just jealous because your wife puts her...warm... soft...smooth...hands on me as she takes me from the washer to the dryer.

begin

The Idea for this blog came from a flash fiction workshop facilitated by Jeff VandeZande and Josh Maday. Josh and Matt Bell each posted a one hundred words every day for at least one year. I intend to post every day for a year. I won't hold myself to one hundred words if the story needs a few more. I may post fiction, a tale from my past, an account of a dream, or maybe a poem. I might put an idea out and ask that someone flesh it out. I won't mind if you tell me that I suck, just tell me why.