Categories > Original > Horror
You started knitting a pair of socks on the day before your life fell apart. The day after you cast on the beginning stitches, you got dumped in front of all your mates. You cried for days and didn't touch your project for weeks. As soon as you were able to stop crying constantly, you picked it up again.
You knit the cuff, and halfway down the leg in the span of a weekend.
This time, the week after, your application to that fancy magnet school got rejected. You spent another several nights crying into your pillow. Nearly everything was perfect. You hadn't had any discipline problems, no suspensions, you had near perfect marks, positive comments from all your teachers, and had taken all the prerequisite courses. So why had they rejected you?
A few days later, you knit the rest of the leg of the first sock. Knitting always gave you comfort. It was always so calming to you. It was no wonder this was what you often turned to when your life got tough.
2 days after this, you got into a massive fight with your parents, and tried to hang yourself. You spent 2 weeks in the hospital. There was some talk of you being sent away, possibly permanently, but in the end, you came home again.
Right after you got out, you knitted the heel of the sock.
The day after that, you were dropped from your online courses because you were so far behind, having been unable to do work in the hospital, and your parents had neglected to call your teachers, even after you had asked them. You cringed to think what this would do to your GPA because of their inactivity.
Having nothing better to do, no summer plans, you decided to finish the sock. You got nearly to the toe in a single day.
The week after that, your psychiatrist told you how much of a failure you were, how delusional you were, and how you would soon end up back in a psych ward. You were so upset, you went home, curling up on the couch with comfort food, reruns of Jeff Dunham, and that godforsaken sock.
That night, you managed to complete the toe of the sock, sewing it up, before starting on the second. You kept going, stitch by stitch, telling yourself, "Just this last round, then I can go cut." But you never did, because it was always after the next round that you promised yourself, renewing it each time you got to that round. Eventually, you fell asleep on the couch, the telly on, needles in your loose grip, and your mascara staining your cheeks black and grey.
A week after this incident, you fell and sprained your ankle. You were laid up for a week, barely able to hobble about. You took this opportunity to finish the other side.
The day after you finished them, your computer crashed so badly, that they could barely salvage a single file.
2 weeks later, you wore your socks for the first time.
That very day, you had your purse stolen from you.
A week later, your socks came out again.
The next day, your fish died.
Soon enough, you grew fed up. You finally realized that the socks that you slaved over for months was nothing but bad luck. You questioned why, since the other things you knitted never carried such negative energy. Nonetheless, you took them out to the backyard, and burnt them to ashes. You made sure to collect all the ashes, which you packaged into an airtight container. You sealed it with as much duct tape as you could manage, before throwing it into the rubbish can outside your house. Good riddance to bad rubbish, you muttered to yourself.
You luck improved near instantly after that.
Yesterday, you told me you were considering making another pair of socks to see if your luck with these might be better.
You knit the cuff, and halfway down the leg in the span of a weekend.
This time, the week after, your application to that fancy magnet school got rejected. You spent another several nights crying into your pillow. Nearly everything was perfect. You hadn't had any discipline problems, no suspensions, you had near perfect marks, positive comments from all your teachers, and had taken all the prerequisite courses. So why had they rejected you?
A few days later, you knit the rest of the leg of the first sock. Knitting always gave you comfort. It was always so calming to you. It was no wonder this was what you often turned to when your life got tough.
2 days after this, you got into a massive fight with your parents, and tried to hang yourself. You spent 2 weeks in the hospital. There was some talk of you being sent away, possibly permanently, but in the end, you came home again.
Right after you got out, you knitted the heel of the sock.
The day after that, you were dropped from your online courses because you were so far behind, having been unable to do work in the hospital, and your parents had neglected to call your teachers, even after you had asked them. You cringed to think what this would do to your GPA because of their inactivity.
Having nothing better to do, no summer plans, you decided to finish the sock. You got nearly to the toe in a single day.
The week after that, your psychiatrist told you how much of a failure you were, how delusional you were, and how you would soon end up back in a psych ward. You were so upset, you went home, curling up on the couch with comfort food, reruns of Jeff Dunham, and that godforsaken sock.
That night, you managed to complete the toe of the sock, sewing it up, before starting on the second. You kept going, stitch by stitch, telling yourself, "Just this last round, then I can go cut." But you never did, because it was always after the next round that you promised yourself, renewing it each time you got to that round. Eventually, you fell asleep on the couch, the telly on, needles in your loose grip, and your mascara staining your cheeks black and grey.
A week after this incident, you fell and sprained your ankle. You were laid up for a week, barely able to hobble about. You took this opportunity to finish the other side.
The day after you finished them, your computer crashed so badly, that they could barely salvage a single file.
2 weeks later, you wore your socks for the first time.
That very day, you had your purse stolen from you.
A week later, your socks came out again.
The next day, your fish died.
Soon enough, you grew fed up. You finally realized that the socks that you slaved over for months was nothing but bad luck. You questioned why, since the other things you knitted never carried such negative energy. Nonetheless, you took them out to the backyard, and burnt them to ashes. You made sure to collect all the ashes, which you packaged into an airtight container. You sealed it with as much duct tape as you could manage, before throwing it into the rubbish can outside your house. Good riddance to bad rubbish, you muttered to yourself.
You luck improved near instantly after that.
Yesterday, you told me you were considering making another pair of socks to see if your luck with these might be better.
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