Sock Without A Mate

Alone I lie in the bottom corner of the sock drawer, noticing all the happy socks; bonded with their mates, snuggling and cuddling contently.

Every day, I question why I’m still here and where my mate could have possibly gone.

We had witnessed each other age, wear out, and shrink; consoling one another through every torn stitch and overstretched elastic band.

One day we had been romping around at the park, I remember the grass was plush and soft. Our bodies were stained so green we could have been confused for Christmas stockings, but it didn’t matter because we were happy.

The next day, we were separated before the wash, and that was it.

Many days have passed since my mate has been gone, and I get passed over. No one wants me or seems to know I exist. If only I could get lost in the dryer or thrown away all together. I would even settle for being re-purposed as the dog’s chew toy or used to clean the shower curtains. My sanity hangs by a thread, fraying like delicate wire.

Other single socks attempt to keep me company, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that we don’t match. I try to look past the facts: either we’re not the same color or the same size. Regardless, I am always left feeling disappointed.


The ground shook beneath me as the drawer opened, saturating the darkness with daylight. A hand jutted forward and began swirling among the plethora of socks.

Fleshy tendrils wrap around my body as I am scooped up and removed from the population.

Moments later, we enter a room I remembered, vaguely.

As I am carelessly tossed into a metal bucket, I happened to glimpse writing on the side that read, “2020 Toilet Paper.”


300 Word Count
3/26/20 Winner: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"