14 April 2012
Chapter 2 : The Survivor
The sock, which had lagged behind from being jammed by a wad of chewing gum, crawled past his fellow martyred companions who died an unnecessary death of the unnoticeable battle between the human race. His green, army camouflage design made him blend with the grass. "Is it so that if a walking talking sock wants to wreak an indestructible annihilation across the planet he must die in doing so?" Questioned the sock in a heavy German accent, pondering over the capabilities of humans and their unseen power. He made a small hole behind a bush and lay down looking at the stars, in hope of some sort of revelation or message to be directed to him, for the behalf of the entire Sockren race (Sockren being the race of the socks). His eyes could not gaze long upon the tiny bulbs that seem to illuminate the entire space of the sky; instead they fought to stay open but drew the same fate as the Sockrens.
"How on earth could that be true?" shouted Mrs Smith to the detective "My husband cannot be possibly strangled by a bunch of socks!" exclaimed Mrs Smith advancing towards the detective with such a stern look that the detective quivered in his shoes. "Mrs Smith, p-please understand o-our cause of d-d-death," the detective said weakly, shrinking back to the overwhelming size of Mrs Smith "but the analysis shows fibres of different socks that somehow have made their way outside" he quickly cringed even before the attack he believed Mrs Smith was bound to make, but she did not instead she turned around as if she hadn't been listening to the detective, and she hadn't.
"Good, they have no idea about our existence" said the sock smugly to himself, unaware of Mrs Smith's quick glance. The sock slid down a leaf, manoeuvred down the stem and stealthily slid down the hole behind the bush he has made beforehand. He stopped at the bottom of the tunnel and admired his work; he had made four solid mud walls, a bunch of mud cutlery and plates in case a visitor happened to come around and a wet bath filled with mud for a refreshing regeneration if he runs into some trouble. The sock sat down on the dripping, dirty table and inscribed some ideas. "How can I rebuild the army to prove that socks are no matter to take lightly?" He thought to himself, well, itself. While thinking he stared up as his dripping mud ceiling as a drop fell and SPLAT on the floor. He thought about his companions who had battled bravely against the cruel humans who had treated them like worthless beings. A small tear rolled down his dirty green fabric cheek and he cringed as he felt the dirt, his life, being washed off himself.
Suddenly a thin, but wide, sharp blade sliced down the centre of the table and the army socks instincts were put to action. With an impressive back flip over the chair he was pondering on, he sprung to life and pushed his back against the wall. The silver blade pierced his floor and moved diagonally in his direction. It shivered with fright as the poor sock felt the very ground shake beneath him and he was lifted up slowly through the dirt and into the light, cursing through the layers of the crust. "My time has come," it thought proudly "Time to make my brothers proud."
Digging underneath a mound of dirt the little German sock hid itself from the view of his enemies. "Ma'am I must insist you do not do that, your ruining a potential crime scene" Mrs Smith was eyeing the garden with her beady little eyes from the start. She was in fact smarter than the detective himself. She knew this was between her, and the sock. "Move out of my way detective or this spade is gunna go through your skull!" Mrs Smith screamed and plunged the garden again. Her yesterdays niceness spewing out of her mouth in the form of swears. "That's it, you and you." the detective swiftly pointed to two strong men, "get her into the car, she needs mental help" the men went without even nodding their heads and seized Mrs Smith before she could unleash another raging swing with the spade. The sock watched, delighted, as Mrs Smith was being dragged through the garden. Her high heels making trenches in the ground as she resisted. She was put into a police car and was quickly whisked away. He could just hear her screaming over the sirens.
Behind the police car was another skinny, strange looking man. The sock rubbed its eyes thoroughly, thinking it was Mr Smith. But luckily it was his close workmate, Mr Wurrinun. The sock had seen him many a time when left on the floors of the house. However crazy Mr Smith was Wurrinun topped it. He looked more dishevelled than usual and almost fainted on hearing the oh so tragic news. "Oh how sad Mr Wurrinun, nobody left to concoct your devilishly smart plans!" And that's when it hit him (I think I'll call the sock a him from now on). He also needed some brainpower for his scheme, surely his superior brawn could take on the human species, but just to be sure, he decided he needed to recruit some new soldiers. Straight from Mr Wurrinun himself.
In his attempt to plot his plan, the socks Wurrinun was wearing distracted him. "Two different socks?" Thought the baffled sock "One on each foot? How dare they mock us! Hasn't it been decreed that we all come in pairs! Well apart from you Wurrinun, who couldn't find a date in his life!" The sock so in rage kicked up some dirt from the flowerbed, waking up a few insects also with his silent rage. He soon calmed down and was now pondering the meaning of his existence. He retold yesterdays incident over and over again, as he knew his descendants would listen eagerly to his valour and bravery and he did not want to make a single error. As the code of the Sockren was to be clean and in order, together in their rightful pairs. He looked at the ground guiltily as he remembers his fellow brother, just a couple of days ago they were together despising the humans. But now just a painful image of him screaming in agony as he dies ironically, scars his mind. He holds some mud in his hand (somehow) and gratefully rubs it around his body. Then slowly putting some drier dirt inside of himself in case he needs reviving, he trudges through the garden reliving the painful day. He again promises to forever serve the crazy psychotic sock and starts phase one of his plan. The Heist.
Hehe too many ideas! Tbh I had already written this chapter :O To be continued of course :)
The Psychotic Cheesy Sock • Opuss № I