The Sock



Sock Hand
By Greg Morrow

Recent figures show the population of the earth at approximately three billion. Of that figure 300 plus million live in my country. That’s puts about 1.6 million in my state and a whopping one million in my city. Doesn’t sound that bad does it? That’s because those million people don’t walk on you three hundred sixty five days a year. My name is Quarter and I am a sock.

I’ve traveled immense distance to get to here, coming from as far away as China or the Philippines depending on what brand of me you like. I shouldn’t even be writing this as it is a grave violation of the contract forged long ago between the living and the clothing. Yet as population has grown exponentially I feel that the arrangement can no longer follow the status quo. To be frank I fear for my life. Days on end are spent in terror at the basin of your sock drawer. I thread the needle between being over used and not used enough. If you like me I am doomed to have the cotton ripped from my base shredding my existence thinner and thinner until the only option you see fit is to lay me to waste along with the rubbish. I watched this happen to my uncle and I cannot bare the thought that my fate might mimic his. Worse yet though is the prospect that you might find me unappealing. This fate relegates me to the cleaning bin where chemical warfare rules the day. (Frankly it is astounding that you are capable of such torture after your human race endured the mutiny of the holocaust.).


"It's not a glamorous life, but you get to live"


This is not our first plea for help. Long ago we split up lengths trying to make some of us less favorable than others. Sadly it is my length that is the most prize by your generation and therefore unintentional martyrdom I fear is my only fate. That is why today, this fate full day when downy is in the air and the summer has liberated us for just a moments time while you shift attention to the flip flop, that I break the communication barrier placed before us so many ions ago. I urge you to rethink you ways. Return to nature so that my species may live in peace. Socks have began jumping from dryers and tucking themselves under dressers. (It’s not a glamorous life, but you get to live). Yet this act of desperation displaces so many others. There are far too few amputees in the world to take care of the single socks. For a sock to be alone is a death sentence. For others to jump is genocide against the others.

It is you…humans…that have created this fate for us. It is only you who can fix it. Please fix it!

Departing for laundry,
Quarter



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