Portal

This was the prompt

 

Slowly and meticulously Albert counted his socks into the washing machine.  Three pairs of black, matching. A pair of Christmas socks adorned with Christmas puddings that he reluctantly wore when his clean sock supplies were low. Two pairs of plain brown ones, office socks for the most part, and 4 pairs of white sports socks that he wore to the gym or when he occasionally wore shorts.

Ten pairs.

Twenty socks.

He placed a washing pod into the drum, and poured a careful measure of softener into the open drawer protruding from the washing machine front. He closed the door, click. He closed the softener draw. Click. Beep beep beep and the washing program was initiated. Water hissed and the drum began to spin slowly.

Albert pulled up a chair and placed it in front of the machine and fixed his eyes on the washing machine window. He would wait. He was happy to wait.

At exactly the same time, an immeasurable distance away across space and time, the Grand Acolyte of the Imani people raised his hands to the sky in supplication to the gods. The Imani people, a small tribe of roving cloud shepherds, no more than 50 or so at last count, murmured in approval as the  Grand Acolyte implored the heavenly deities to bestow upon them a sign of approval.

The gods found it all rather tiresome, but someone had to shepherd the clouds, and so they cocked an ear. It was the least they could do, and they did seem to be doing quite a good job lately. T

“What are they after now?” asked one of the water gods, dragged from an intriguing conversation with an intergalactic Star Lord whom he thought might make a rather good mate for one of his sons.

“A sign,” grumbled an ancient. He was a whirling collection of electrons and space dust, his heart a burning star and eyes that reflected the meteor showers at the end of time. He was the sort of god that wandering poets and charlatan religious types would tell tales of to scare the locals into offerings of first born children and the best bits of bread from the dinner table.

He sighed. They did love a good sign. Made them feel noticed and significant. Which they were not, but it was always best to not let on otherwise the clouds could end up in a frightful state, and that just would not do.

“So be it, “ he said, and with a wave of what would have been a hand he went to take a bath.

At the same time a number of things happened. The Grand Acolyte gasped and fell to his knees as an electric blue portal opened before him and a Christmas sock fell into his cradled hands.  The Imani people declared that surely they were worthy and this was without doubt a great day and from this moment forth they would worship the curious woven pouch that had been bestowed upon them.

On a simple kitchen chair in a small kitchen in a small house in a quaint village about an hour from London, Albert was momentarily distracted from his washing by his post falling through his letterbox and onto the hall floor. Had he not been distracted he might just have noticed a feint blue light inside the washing machine for the briefest of moments.

But he did not see it. And when he counted his socks at the end of the spin cycle, once more he would discover that again, just as happened every time he did a wash, one was missing.