Socks

They were hung on two lines, forced from going anywhere, left out on two lines to dry. Whatthey really wanted was to be alive. They had dreams of flying amongst the birds and yet, here they are hanging for dear life with only some wooden pegs supporting them. To stop them from falling. Those who are scared of heights would not like to be left hanging here. But what can they do? They cannot make their much desired escape. They cannot leave for they are trapped.

They await torture. This terrible torture involved being folded up into what tueir oeners believe to be neat and tidy piles but imagine it from their point of view. They are being folded into positions that do not suit them at all.

Some are lucky. Some do not get folded. Instead they are hung up in that wardrobe of theirs crushed amongst others. They await that horrible ordeal of being worn again. I pity those socks; humans' feet are most disgusting and potent snelling too.

Then of course after they have been worn they are washed. They are spun over and over again. Poor souls must get ever so dizzy. People do not hear their screams for help or their whimpers as they realise that there is nothing they can do but put up with being spun and having soap forced in and out ofbtheir mouths. Once they have been washed they start out where this story started. Spread across two lines.

Poor, poor souls.

That was a story i wrote where i was not allowed to use the definite or indefinite article.