"Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it's the only way you can do anything really good."
William Faulkner
Day 27! I am so proud of you! So few made it this far! Your tenacious way will serve you well in life, in writing and on any journey you embark on. Let's keep it going!
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Today's Prompt:
A tale from the land of lost socks.
Regina's 15-minute creative writing:
“Dammit,” Oggie snarled as one of his stitches snagged on a tooth and tore, exposing the tiniest white curls of fluff.
“You’re not supposed to say Dammit, Oggie,” Lumpet hissed behind one flopping hand. “Teacher says, “Loose with words, lose your words.” That’s how Idgen’s lips were taken.”
Oggie shuddered and ran the curved woollen palm of his left arm across the tight, tiny stitches of his own mouth. He loved words. How they rolled about in his stuffing, how they crawled out between stitches and hurled on for eternity into the great beyond. He loved the idea of his own ideas, made flesh, made sound, made substance, with just a shift of those precious stitches. The thought of them being removed by the Collective made his heart shudder under his buttons.
“I said nothing,” Oggie huffed, absently running his hand over his torn stitch and checking the stuffing level. A tiny white cloud already poked through the tiny gap in the fabric. The torn stitch had pulled through one hole in each direction and as Oggie pressed on it, the end of the thread pulled through one more hole widening the gap between his leg and his body one tiny stretch at a time. Oggie shuddered.
Just one more reason. Just one more excuse to break the law, to defy their ways, to fight back and – if they were successful on this fool-hearted quest – to offer salvation to dozens. Maybe hundreds... Maybe thousands! Oggie paused mid-step, the pad of his foot hovering over the quilted scrap that covered the world beyond him. He considered their quest as he had done dozens of times over the preceding months. He’d be a hero. He’d be a saint. He'd be a saviour to his family, his community, and his corner of Lostenfond. He’d free his fellow Sokpopets from the tyranny of the Tailor. He’d be a star – beloved by all. They would build a monument in his honour, covered in gold glitter, that would shine under the red light of Exet for the whole of the land to see. That is if the Collective didn’t disassemble him first.
“Oggie! Snap out of it! Gosh, I hate it when your buttons glaze over like that.” Lumpet huffed, shaking her black wool hair at him. Oogie let his foot fall, taking the next step and realized Lumpet had had to come back to get him. He should have been embarrassed, but anytime Lumpet looked at him, all he could see was her shining green cat eyes, secured right through her bright yellow fabric, not stitched on like his own flat black buttons. He was mesmerized by how they glowed in even the slightest light, shining like twin beacons in the dark. One pupil was directly up and down, the other off to a rather interesting tilt that always left his head drifting to one side. He noticed he was doing it again and forced his floppy neck straight, flicking back his own red acrylic braid.
“We made it past the Binovloskays. We need to keep going.” He consulted the scrap of paper he kept tucked behind his ear. “We need to make it to Mecelaneyus. In there the Naydul of Time will be found, shoved into the great pink Earaycure.” He looked again at the crudely drawn map. It had to be true it just had to. The Stranger had crawled into their local tavern not 2 months ago. He was battered and bruised beyond recognition. He claimed he had once been a Stuvy, but that giants and monstrous wolves had held him captive and toyed with him for years. Finally, he had been abandoned in the Great Areenah, and he had been carried by winged angels to be flung in amongst us. He said he fell from the sky, and as he fell, he saw the whole world – all of Lostenfond. He spoke of the brown Kardboord mountain ranges that encircled our borders. He spoke of the wet spot in one corner, the bin of lost keys, the pile of toys and the sprawling land of lost socks. And he saw a needle in a bin marked miscellaneous. The two sock puppets are on a mission to get the needle and bring it back because the Tailor holds the only needle in the land and charges people to death for his work. A second needle would mean freedom.
***
Time’s up! What did you write? Share in the comments, or send me an email. Let’s try again tomorrow! Here’s to the writing challenge!!
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See you tomorrow!
With Love,
Snow White and the Wicked Curse: Chapter 1
Snow White and the Vicious Curse: Chapter 2
Snow White and the Seven Thieves: Chapter 3
The final chapter, Snow White and the Poisoned Apple.
Prefer to read the whole story at once? Grab your copy of Snow: The Complete Erotic Series now! All five books are coming soon in Paperback.
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With Love,
Check out her books:
Snow White and the Wicked Queen: Chapter 1
Snow White and the Vicious Curse: Chapter 2
Snow White and the Seven Thieves: Chapter 3
Snow White and the Poisoned Apple: The Final Chapter
Prefer to read the whole story at once? Grab your copy of Snow: The Complete Erotic Series now! All five books are available now as ebooks and paperbacks. Coming soon in Large Print format!
2nd edition coming 2025!
