I have acclimated myself to the pocket. Being lint, I had no choice. At one time I thought differently. I just assumed the warmth and darkness defined the womb. Thought I had a loving mother waiting for me to emerge.
After a long time I realized how cruel the world can be. Outside of an occasional hairy appendage entering my space, nothing happened. At first I thought it was God. Sometimes I brushed against it as it seemed to be searching for something. If I had a mouth I would have pleaded for an explanation. But invariably, this God abandoned me.
The real understanding came after I was almost crushed by a heavy metal object, which I later divined was a group of keys owned by the being with the pocket. Was it trying to kill its own creation? I had to assume I was a project. Maybe I was still a work in progress stored away for eons.
There are periods when my womb is stationary. Just when I panic and convince myself I have been forgotten, the owner of the womb dons it and off we go traveling who knows where.
Is this my existence? I felt a strong urge to connect with another of my kind. I was lonely. Then a miracle occurred. Another lump of lint dropped into my womb. If I had arms I would have embraced it. It told me a horrifying story of being stuffed into the being’s navel, sweaty and smelly, suffocating. We sobbed together.
We won’t give up efforts to escape. We can’t make a break for it – no legs. Our best chance is if the being shoves a piece of Velcro into its pocket and we latch onto that, praying it will be removed and send us to freedom. We have decided to pray to the God of Velcro.
We haven’t figured out the sex thing yet. Foreplay is complicated without lips. – Joe Del Priore