Those pink socks

4. These items must be included: a new pair of socks, a historical landmark, a spork (the combination of spoon and fork frequently seen among airline flatware), a domesticated animal, and the complete works of William Shakespeare.

In the darkest of dark winter nights, a single candle gave light to the room. The rays of light crept along the bookshelves, reflecting themselves off the objects, before fading away into the darkness. The ancient manuscript’s faded pages were given new life under the candle light; the faces of the creatures came to life and danced along the pages as the light shone down upon them.

In the midst of this apparent shrine to the written works of mankind sat a little girl. Whether the girl could read or not did not matter: the power of the books was overwhelming.  She felt at home in the British Library, a feeling she had only once had before. All that she had to associate with that feeling were blurred memories of sunny days, a country house, and hay fields. It had been a long time since that feeling had taken 

hold of her.

She had no memories of how she found her way to British Library.  All she knew was that since she had woken up yesterday evening, she had been there. The books were her only company.  The size of the room was a mystery to her, as the candle did not illuminate the entire space. She was curious, yet the fear of the unknown kept her from exploring the building.

As she gazed up towards the bookshelves, she saw the same pattern repeated over and over again. She did not realize that it was the name “William Shakespeare”, or that she was looking at his complete works. She stood up and made her way towards one of the books.

She gently placed her hand on its side, and then slipped it out of the shelf.  As she opened it, an image of an animal head on a man greeted her.  It mesmerized her.  The animal was known to her. The old memories of the country house brought up images of this animal as well. She used to play with it, feed it, and it would carry bricks around. It had four legs, a brownish mane ran along its neck, and it had similar brownish hair at the end of its tale. Don. Donk. Donke. DONKEY! The name came back to her.

She was looking at William Shakespeares Midsummer’s Night Dream, but obliviously.  A tinge, a pain, cold brought her back to her present surroundings. Her memories disappeared for a moment, and all she could think of were socks. Hadn’t she bought socks?

“Tring-Tring-Tring.” A sound pierced into the fog of her dream. She became conscious of the blanket that covered her, the bed in which she lay, the familiar surroundings that made up her bedroom.  She slowly opened her eyes to the cold, December morning light that filtered in through the window and illuminated the room. Her feet were sticking out of her blanket, the tinge, the pain, the cold suddenly made sense.

She slowly, sloppily, extended her left-arm and felt the alarm clock. Automatically, as if by some unconscious reaction, her fingers pressed the “off” button. The same fingers then made their way towards her eyes and rubbed them.

She sat up and looked around the room. The dream already began to dwindle into the depths of her mind. Her eyes spotted the pink socks she had bought yesterday; they were right next to the bowl with last night’s dinner and the spork.

Her mother’s voice called out to her from somewhere in the house. She did not need to hear the words to know what was being asked of her: it was time for her to come down for breakfast, the only meal they ate together.

She jumped out of bed, grabbed the socks and put them on. She quickly grabbed the bowl and spork and leapt across the room. Her hands touched the door-knob, and turned it. One foot, then the other made its way into the wide world outside her bedroom. She was gone. 

Word count: 696