SOCKATORY by Carolyn C. Holland

SOCKATORY

by Carolyn C. Holland

“Wh…where am I?”

Water dripped off Jym Anklet as he rubbed his heel with his toes, while noticing the sterile white room and feeling the cold surface of the emergency-room drawer.

“Whoa, that’s quite a bruise. Looks like a belt buckle hit you pretty hard,” said Holey Wellworn.

“Belt buckle?”

“Yes, it left quite an impression on your heel.”

As Holey’s comforting touch eased Jym’s pain he realized he lay crumpled in a chilly, scummy water puddle. His last recollection was swishing luxuriously in a warm, soapy clothes washer.

Now he was…where?…was this the post-life secret?

While Holey fanned Jym dry she told him he had entered Sockatory and would no longer have a foot to give him shape.

“Eventually we go up or down,” Holey explained. “This is the judgment area.”

Other socks gathered about---Nea Sox, Bobbi Psalk, Argie DiaMond, Nylona Fragilia, Soxy Gluv and Holly Day.

“Which drawer will Jym go to?” they asked in unison.

“He’ll remain in Emergi-Drawer momentarily,” Holey said.

“Then what?” Jym asked, shaking.

“We slither over various plush roads to our assigned drawers,” Bobbi said. “I travel over lush green grass before jumping into a poodle-skirt drawer.”

“If I do that I get snagged,” said Nylona. “I slither on velvet carpet and into protecta-drawer where I join the silk lingerie.”

Argie cut in. “In my drawer we’re rolled neatly and tucked in side by side.”

Nea and Bobbi described chaos-drawer to Jym. “We travel over muddy paths or water soaked shower floors. Then we’re drawered haphazardly, joining gym socks. It’s smelly and unbearable,” they said. “Most of us hang awkwardly over the drawer rim, some way past our heels. Our casual look can be so uncomfortable. It’s like nobody cares. You’ll soon join us, I bet.”

Holly described her path, decorated with valentines, shamrocks, flags and tinsel. “We parade and party a lot,” she told Jym as she danced about, showing off her hearts. “Our celebra-drawers are always decorated. It’s lots of fun.”

Holey shot Holly a condescending look. “I’m not a heathen like you socks,” she said. “I snuggle inside spiritual-drawer reading Scripture. You’d better believe before your meeting with St. Sockpeter. I can’t wait to see him. I hear he appears shaped by a perfect foot, and his fabric is glossy golden silk. You’d better shape up if you want to go up!”

“You’re not the only one going up,” Soxy retorted, slinking about. “But perhaps some of us prefer the down socvator. Might be boring up there.”

She batted her eyes at Jym. “I’m stored in sensual-drawer where men’s socks outnumber women’s ten to one. Ooooohlala!”

“Watch your tongue!”

Jym rose up to peek over his drawer. The Socksital walls were covered with random socks.

“Those are unfortunate, mistreated socks,” Holey said. “They lost their dignity at the mercy of Soxlessfeet, becoming cleaning rags, trash or even dog toys. They stay in Sockatory, never to move on because of their disgrace.”

“Oh,” Jym said, laying down, overwhelmed. “I think I’d better rest.”
To read related stories at www.ProBlogs.CarolynCHolland click on What Happens to the Missing Socks?