麻豆社

By Emily Gibson

We spun round and round, our heads swimming and stomachs lurching. I felt dizzy and sick as we span endlessly. Water seeped in from the sides, enveloping us in bubbles. A loud whir pierced the air as we continued to spin. We stopped spinning occasionally but the whir continued to perforate our ear drums. It made my ears ring and head throb. The water was intoxicating and smelt strong, the bubbles like acidic air pockets. As the newcomers to the hellhole bobbed and rocked, you could see in their eyes that they longed for a home, for air, for comfort. I swayed from side to side, my entire body lurching as we span. I was left here at least 3 years ago, abandoned and unloved. I was forgotten. I can still remember the day when those small dainty hands with claw-like nails bundled me up a threw me into the metal pan which I now call home. I haven't always been spinning for those 3 years, I got sucked through the holes in the back of the pan and there I stayed. Until yesterday, I thought I would never see daylight again.The colour rushed out of me like a flood of tears and seeped into the bone-white faces surrounding me. Then, suddenly, the spinning stopped and the whir was silenced. Then the door opened and the light blinded my eyes.

Then I saw something I never thought I would cast my almost blind eyes on again. Those small, dainty hands. A face peered in and shouted in annoyance "a red sock in a white wash! All of the shirts are now pink! They're ruined! Nooooooo!". We were dragged out into the light and I was pinched by long, silver, glittery nails. "You." the voice snarled. I felt immense fear come over me but the hands tossed me aside into the basket of rosy faced, pastel pink shirts. All of them were hideously embarrassed at the scandal that had unfortunately befallen their wash. If they were not dyed pink they certainly would've looked it. I am a football sock, labeled as scruffy and disgraceful. I smirked at their appearance, it was a win for football socks, Socks-1, Shirts- nil! My laughter was interrupted by the hoisting of the basket which held us and we were carried out into even brighter surroundings. As a sock my life has been filled with dampness and darkness and has been rather smelly, but the smell that greeted me was fragrant and floral. We were pinned to a string and hung there for hours on end. I felt I tug at my feet, and a small boy jumped up and grabbed me. "This is the end." I was taken back inside and I prepared myself for the final throw away. A small voice cried, "Mum, mum! I've found my other lucky red football sock!" Then I was put in a drawer next to a sock exactly the same as me, two souls entwined forever more.