Rich had nine socks in his drawer. If eight of them were multicolored crew socks and the rest were mid-length grey socks, how many mid-length grey socks did Rich have? That’s right! One sad singular sock.
It was a sad sock because it didn’t fit in with the other socks. While each other sock was a crew sock, the unfortunate sock was a mid-length. And the sock knew why they laughed. The other crew socks laughed at mid-length sock’s height. They laughed at the strange ribbing on the sock. They laughed at the strange checkmark emblazoned on its side and its dull grey coloring. They didn’t understand the sad sock, so they decided to laugh at it instead.
The sad sock was sadder and sadder each day. It longed for a day when the other socks would accept it and play sock tag and have sock sleepovers and make sock smores. But alas. The day would never come.
The sad sock sighed softly. It wished for a friend. It vaguely remembered a missing half, a partner, a mate. Every night, it looked up out of the drawer into the night ceiling, pleading with the plastic stars above. Desperately whispering out prayers for somesock just like him. Reciting its deep, meaningful poetry. But alas, the sock’s prayers were drowned out by the snores of the crew socks.
“Please, I need a friend.” whispered the sock.
“Snnn-oooooock,” snored the crew socks.
And so, every day, the sad sock was sad. It wallowed it its eternal despair. It felt incomplete and empty. Incomplete like the forgotten puzzle on the floor, empty like the trash can after garbage day. And so it wallowed alone in the drawer.
One fateful night, the sock caught something in the corner of its eye. A balled up object soaring through the air. Though the article itself was blurry, the silhouette was unmistakable.
“A shooting sock!” The sad sock cried, lighting up excitedly. It tumbled towards the edge of the drawer, gaping; it had never seen one before, only heard of it from the other socks.
The crew socks crowded around the edge of the drawer, clamoring to make a wish. They pushed and shoved the sad sock around as it tried to find its footing. It looked up to the shooting star as it disappeared behind some piece of furniture.
The sad sock shrieked as its sock heart, stretchy but tattered, sank into the pits of its sock body. The crew socks, unaware of its pain, shoved him roughly toward the edge of the drawer, and the sad sock catapulted off the edge and tumbled down into the darkness.
The sock felt the fuzz of the pink shag rug underneath it, and a loud humming that blasted cold air in its face. It lifted its head to hear the chattering of the crew socks, now only murmurs high above it. It had never explored this frontier before, next to the foot of the bottom of the drawer.
But nothing had really changed. Not truly. He was still alone.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
The sock started as, from the depths, another sock crawled out. It was dull grey with a checkmark emblazoned on its side. Just like the sad sock. The two stared at each other, separated only by blank space and bits of the carpet handing in the air.
“You have beautiful eyes.” whispered the sad sock
“So—so do you.”
“You…you look just like me. You must be….my other half.”
A sudden gust picked up the pink tendrils that floated around them. The other sock gaped in wonder and disbelief.
“I, I haven’t seen another sock in years. I cannot believe it. I thought—is it…? Is it you?”
The sad sock reached towards this familiar sock “I know you. I—from a dream. I know you. You must be my other half. My… soulmate.”
“I’ve been looking for you.” The other sock grasped the sock, and its eyes shined in wonder. “Now that I found you, I will never let you go. We can build each other up again, make each other happier.”
“I feel whole. Complete.” The sock, no longer sad, beamed at its love. “Thank you.”
And so, for the rest of their days, the pair lived at the bottom of the drawer, happily ever after.