Rachael's Story About "I Found An Alternate Dimension In A Hole In My Sock Painting"
My favorite argyle sock. Missing for ages, now its little nose pokes out from underneath the dryer like a suspicious weasel. I make a dive for it as if, after its first taste of freedom it might try to make a break for it, back to the unknown lint-filled worlds beneath the large appliance. I snatch it and promptly wrangle it onto my foot, "You shall not escape me again!" (I don't know why I'm so stern toward it, it IS my favorite sock...) Adequately socked and shod, I sally forth into my day.
All is well until I go out on my lunch break.
I'm walking across the parking lot to my car and I feel something in my shoe. The little threads across my heel have given way and there is now a small hole in my sock. I can feel the bare skin of my foot sticking to my insoles with every step. The hole grows bigger. I stop to readjust the sock. Leaning against my car, I try to pry my shoe off. No good. It's stuck there like a barnacle. Even though I'm not walking, the hole is still expanding. The funny thing is, I can no longer feel my foot inside my shoe... I look down to see my sneaker falling off to expose my sock. Not my foot. My foot had entirely vanished. Suddenly, the rest of me followed suit and I was squeezed through the hole like so much buttercream from an icing bag and into a creamhorn.
I don't know where I am. It's dark here. And fuzzy. And all I can smell is dryer sheets.