Purple Sock III: End Game

Maybe I'll eventually remember parts one and two, written in shelter journals in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in the last few weeks, and write them here as well. For now, and for all interested parties (probably limited to Sherlock, Sonic, Superman, Chew, Roo, and Turtle), here is part three of the saga of Purple Sock. This story first appeared in the shelter journal at Flint Rock Shelter near Sams Gap.

Purple Sock III: End Game

Upon entering the cave, Purple sock noticed three things. First, there was indeed a large fire. A black pot hung above it, gurgling as fluid boiled within. Second, he noticed a large pile of ... Well, he wasn't quite sure what it was for a large canvas tarp covered it. Third, and most odd, was a pair of ankle-high toe socks. Toe socks are weird enough. The stories any sock out of its packaging long enough could tell about them would put a scare into any self-respecting woven garment. Ankle-high toe socks must be much, much worse. All socks know that ankle socks are unpredictable. Add to that the terrifying reputation of toe socks, and you have an abomination.

Purple Sock let out a meek hello in the general direction of the toe socks, who were currently set on some task deep in the darker reaches of the cave. A stronger hello left him shortly after. 

We heard you the first time, said one toe sock. 

Yeh. We heard you already, said the second, unnecessarily.

An interrogation of Purple Sock followed. Who was he? Here did he come from? Where was his match? Would he be delicious stewed with glove parts and buttons?

The fourth question have Purple Sock reason to rethink the current situation. He was probably in danger ... Or they were just crazy. His eyes surveyed the cave again.

Fire. Check. 

Pot of boiling water. Check. 

Seemingly cannibalistic socks wondering about his edibility. Check.

A ha! But no spare glove parts or ... Shit. The pile covered with canvas. 

And then the toe socks were upon him, trying to subdue him and move him toward the fire and their stew pot. They were successful, but as soon as they were close enough, Purple sock turned the tables. He quickly dodged behind them, their backs to the fire as they turned to meet him, and turned himself inside out. Horrified, the toe socks each stumbled into the fire and burned to death.

Purple Sock was out f breath but relieved the danger was behind him. He quickly went to the mound the toe socks left behind. Thousands of sock, glove, scarf, and other textile parts were piled high in the cave. One part in particular mattered most: the heel of a purple sock. Frantically, Purple Sock gathered the heel and searche for other parts. A grey toe followed blue, yellow and red pieces from other socks, and he sewed his match back to life. Since the heel is the soul of any sock, he was sure this would work. 

It did!

His friend restored, the pair walked into the woods to begin a new journey. About two miles in, a realization hit Purple Sock which did not occurr to his friend. He didn't like his match anymore. He had forgotten all about an argument they had about grape fruits which caused them to decide they were better off apart. So, he reached over to his friend, pulled a thread, and watched him fall apart to the ground. Problem solved. 

The end.