Smellington City

It was something in the water…

At least, that’s what Langley said. Not that that particular file would ever be released to the general public. It had been in danger during the Wikileaks scandal, but good men had given their lives to keep the intel safe.

The truth could never be known. Never. Men in suits could only mutter and shiver as they considered what would happen if the world found out…

…If the world found out that washing powder makes socks grow legs.


Squeaking and singing, dancing and darning, another tribe of socks gambolled into the shanty town of Smellington having escaped their human captors.

Their thread was light, their wool warm in the free sun as they skipped through the streets of drawers, smiling in perfect, cottony joy.

And the agents watched from a distance; squinting down their binoculars and spyglasses, telescopes and night-vision goggles as they desperately tried to solve the final puzzle:

“What the hell do they wear on their feet?”

I like to think sandals

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