New Days, New Ventures…

OK, so this really is going to be completely off the rails where talking about popular science/social issues (well, sort of) is concerned. But just try it out…you may like it!

Essentially, a cool thing called ‘Jim’ll Draw It’ popped up a few times on my Facebook feed. I loved the idea straight off the bat! People gave the artist, presumably named Jim, a couple of sentences on what they wanted him to draw. They’d then get exactly what they requested.

With that awesome idea in mind, I thought I could test out the exact same idea with short stories! I want to come up with a catchier name than ‘Taz’ll Write It’ but eh…we’ll see. And awesomely enough as well, I have my very first request below.

Mr. Nick writes:

“Dear Taz, 

Could you write a short story about an epic battle between Socks and Boxers that also has a romantic element to it? You know…to show that love can come out of adversity?” 

Well, Nick, your wish is my command! Here’s your story, may it do your undergarments justice:

As soon as the door shut behind Jeremy, the room went from being eerily silent for a teenager’s room to being filled with battle cries and war chants. Though it is debatable whether any human would have been able to decipher these.

“Down with the Crotch-Huggers!” yelled one side of the room.

“Destroy the Foot-Fools!” rebutted another.
For little did Jeremy know that, as soon as his room was devoid of any human activity, it was a battleground. A battle the likes of which had probably never been seen before in the history of his room! Or…indeed, the world. Because when Jeremy left his room to the workings of the mysterious elements, he unwittingly unleashed a war, which threatened to shake the very foundations of his room. But probably not the Earth.

A fateful battle…between undergarments.

“FIRE THE PAPERCLIPS!” yelled Major Adidas, his combat prowess being second to none amongst his fellow Sock Combatants. The Sock People had wished the Major to be their de facto leader through a series of elections but Adidas had refused. He had seen too many good Socks fall in this battle for undergarment supremacy. He left the political side to President Nike: sure, the guy didn’t do much thinking but he loved doing…well, stuff. The rallying cry which had sealed another term for the old Sock was simply: “Just do it!”. And boy, did it work to get the Sock People ready to win this war. Even if the President didn’t know what he was doing exactly. The paperclips were fired. Much of the enemy fell but still others marched forward to meet the Socks in mortal combat. Major Adidas looked behind him. There was a figure, presumably cowering behind one of the bed legs. The Major sighed. This job just didn’t get any easier for him. As he turned and made his way towards the hiding figure, he heard an explosion come from the western flank.

“Commander Jokkey, I need your skills on the battlefield. We have drawn Major Adidas out…see to it that he falls or it will be your waistband!” King Komfort sat on his scrunched up paper throne, barking orders to his subjects. Hot tempered but cunning, the King was not one to be trifled with. Jokkey bowed and left for the battlefield.

“Kleinus! Report!” the King barked.

“We have had some casualties on the field but we seem to be making an advance on the western front. The TV stand area shall be ours soon…yet the Foot-Fools have an advantage when fighting on the Messy Mire. Our forces cannot oppose them on the ground” the King’s adviser, Kleinus, spoke in a low hiss, more of a product defect than an actual indication of evil intentions.

“What?! But…the Wearer’s Matriarch ordered him to obliterate the Messy Mire yesterday! There are food deposits over a week old there!” King Komfort could not understand this huge setback to his war operations.
“We shall try to divert more troops there, sire, but our resources are dwindling…and…there is more…”

“More? What more news could you possibly bring to me, Kleinus?” the King was getting angry. Kleinus sighed. He knew there was no easy way to say this.

“The Princess…Victorya…she is missing…”

The next thing Kleinus felt was a huge thump somewhere on his cottony body before darkness engulfed him.

The war on the eastern flank had reignited again. Removed from the battle, two figures spoke in hushed tones at the bottom of the Wearer’s bed.

“Oh Sockulus, I could not stand to disobey Father, but I just had to see you again”

“And nor I you, my love…how I have longed to feel your silky smooth skin…the war grows ever more destructive…”

The Princess fell into him. He had known her ever since she had erroneously fallen into the Boxers’ Grounds, probably by some mistake on the part of the Wearer’s Matriarch. But ever since Sockulus had first seen her, he was overcome by emotions stronger than he had ever felt before. He made contact with her in secret thereafter, sure not to attract the attention of his father, President Nike.

She often told him of her land in their secretive meetings. A vast and sweet smelling place where seeing pink was the norm. He had not known a Boxer to be so kind, so gentle and…so understanding of his plight as a Sock. Nor was any Boxer he knew as…slim and minimally covering as her. Not that he minded, of course. No, it was no better – smell nor feel – where the Wearer wore her than where the Wearer wore him, she said with a tone of resignation. Although she noted that her Wearer was different to his, no doubt another result of the mix-up by the Wearer’s (or Wearers’?) Matriarch. Yes, she longed for a day when undergarments were free to roam the lands in peace and harmony with one another. No, she did not care for the one called ‘Justin Bieber’.

“Will we ever be…be free? To be together, my love?” Princess Viktorya asked Sockulus quietly, the sounds of chaotic projectiles causing more death and destruction in the lands beyond the bed.

“Yes…yes, we will…”

Viktorya looked at Sockulus, immense emotions welling up inside her. “My love…I have a secret…I know a way to get out this godforsaken place…”

After listening to his love’s cunning plan, the young lovers snuck away from below the bed to what they believed would be their ultimate freedom.

The war left many casualities, more than any single war that had taken place before. Major Adidas and Commander Jokkey had fallen in combat, gaping holes littering both of their corpses. Many good Socks and Boxers fell. The cries for bloodlust were replaced by a melancholy sadness for the fallen and for the living, for the former were gone to rest in the life beyond but…the latter would have to endure this madness.

“Komfort…”
“Nike…”
The two leaders faced each other awkwardly…and with a look of shame. They both knew that the time had come to stop warring but pride was a hard thing to put aside for both of them. Yet they knew they had to.

President Nike spoke first, confidently and resolutely: “Komfort, we have let our people go through harsher times than any undergarment deserves. This cannot continue…”
Komfort nodded, though he did not like to admit it. “Yes…I agree. This…death and destruction can only serve to bring both of our peoples down.”

“My people! Let us not look upon the Boxers as enemies…for tell us, dear Komfort, does not the area that you are worn make you miserable?”
“YES! MOST MISERABLE!” Komfort roared, his fellow subjects (the surviving ones, anyway) echoing his cries in unison. “And you, dear Nike, does not being walked upon do injustice to your very soul?”

“YES! INJUSTICE!” the Socks all cried out as one.

“Then let us put aside our differences and work to rebuild these lands…and to engage in plans on how both our peoples can subtly make the Wearer miserable upon no end.”

Both sides, the Socks and the Boxers, cheered, as their respective leaders drew up an agreement: bound in the material and thread of their fallen brethren. But as they did, they heard a sound come from beyond the Portal. It sounded like the Wearer! Both Socks and Boxers scrambled to get back to their respective territories, the treaty still in the hands of President Nike.

Jeremy burst into his room, urgency characterising his actions.
“Crap, crap, crap! I have to leave in like two minutes and if I’m late again, she’ll dump me! Where are they, where are the…”

He looked around his room. Something definitely seemed different. Was it…tidier than normal? He couldn’t be sure. His mum had asked him to clean his room up again and again but he was a teenager! If he actually did what his parents said, he’d pretty much be disowned by his age group.

“Ah, here we go!” He picked up his pair of lucky Nike socks: not the really fancy pair he had been given as his birthday present, but the other, tighter pair. They were his lucky pair. For some reason, they were on his dressing table. How they got there, he had no idea. But that wasn’t the weirdest thing, Jeremy mused. Next to his lucky pair of socks was a pair of silky Victoria’s Secret panties. Jeremy raised an eyebrow. Did his sister’s panties somehow get into his room? He picked them up. They looked new…and expensive! He smirked. The perfect present to prevent him getting dumped! He put his socks on, stuffed the panties in his bag and ran out of his room.

President Nike watched the Wearer as he put on Sockulus and put Princess Viktorya in his bag. He looked at the treaty, hoping Komfort was also watching the scene that took place. For the King could be incredibly unreasonable and brash, especially where his adopted daughter was concerned. The President of the Socks sighed. Perhaps, just to be extra careful, he had to put together some battle plans. He hoped it would not come to that but…the disappearance of both the Princess and his very own son, whom he hoped would be returned soon, would be a very hard thing to explain to the King of the Boxers.

If only, pondered President Nike, the Wearers knew of the plights the undergarments faced.

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~ by tazjagdev on March 5, 2013.

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