138 — Electrostatic Arrogance

There is a Limbo, despite its ecclesiastical decommission. It persists. There's a place for everything, and Limbo still serves a purpose.

Behind closed doors is the undisturbed dust of ages. The near-misses of all of Man's epochs, arrogantly ramparted, fuel the disturbed who have forgotten their quests.

And, there, hide many unmatched, estranged socks.

While there are no longer cries of unbaptized babies heard from beyond Limbo's doors, there can still be heard the wails of unfulfilled dreams, the howls of unrequited loves, the anguished grunts of insincere promises.

And the low crackling of electrostatically charged socks.

Time has no meaning there, and so the promise of "one day..." is paradox. One day...dreams realized, love reciprocated, and promises made good.

One day...

...dreams of the incapable will be fulfilled...

...loves of those who grieve missed opportunities will be consummated...

...anger from empty, unkept promises will be replaced with hope, redemption, and follow-through.

Those who lock themselves behind these doors--from the inside, at their own insistence--will no longer be cha'grinning like that one divorced sockclown desperately clinging inside the drying machine for dear life, in solemn tenacity as transient and fragile as its electrostatic energy.

I am such a unipod: I have been to Limbo and back; I have walked the semibare footwalk.

I've been shocked by the negative charge of lost ions--lost to those who were resolutely insulated, non-conductive. I thought the solution was wearing no socks at all, but all I did was stub toes--my every one, one or two at a time--each footfall with a sad yarn to spin.

Walking on mismatched feet--one fixed, but one afoot--provokes twirling in place and hopscotching the uneven stones of life's journey. A centrifugal gait creates spin, from which those without an adequate grip are flung away into the vacuum of space, where uneven charges never dissipate.

If Hell is exothermic and Heaven esoterically exquisite, then I am coldblooded, assimilating the ambiance of the environment--and of my own making.

For those who have just one final spark to give...

For those who will consider using that spark to unlock their doors instead of remaining negatively, self-destructively charged...

For them...they will attain an actualization of rejoining life's fashionable wardrobe.

__________

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

For Friday, May 17, Day 138 of the Story-a-Day Challenge.

366 WORDS (without A/N)

All pictures are AI-generated, but the mismatch is not!

ABOUT THIS STORY:

Socks and existentialism. Yea, the metaphor is a stretch. Yet, we are social creatures who don't like being hung out to dry. We don't like being separated. And when we choose to do it to ourselves, we're shooting ourselves in the foot (no good sock goes unpunished).

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• L.C. Schäfer, challenge originator

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• Gerard DiLeo (some other guy)

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