Socks

I was bored, and Ammani’s 24-hour challenge seemed like a lot of fun, and though I missed the first one, I did try my hand at the second – socks.

She opens the drawer and a formidable challenge looks out at her. A pile of black socks scattered about, each looking for its better half. Some are turned inside-out, wiry little strings sticking out at the edges, like little moustaches. Others have bled out in the washing, not so black anymore. A few have withered, and shrunk, and others have stretched into awkward shapes. She empties them onto the bed; they remind her of people she knows.

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