Anadiplosis (an’-a-di-plo’-sis): The repetition of the last word (or phrase) from the previous line, clause, or sentence at the beginning of the next. Often combined with climax.
It happened again. Again I couldn’t find my sock’s partner. My sister had given me the socks for my birthday. They had Smokey the Bear imprinted on them. I loved them. Now, one was gone. I was frustrated and angry. I tore my dresser drawers apart. I looked under my bed and checked the washer and dryer to see if I’d left it there. I double checked my laundry basket. I even looked in my brother’s, sister’s, and parent’s dressers and under their beds. I looked through the rag bag down in the basement. No sock. I couldn’t believe I’d managed to lose something so completely—from my foot, to the laundry, to gone.
Then one night as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a muffled voice coming from my closet: “Only you can prevent forest fires.” It was a bad imitation of Smokey the Bear. I jumped out of bed and pulled open the closet door. I don’t know what I expected to see, but I thought it would have something to do with my sock. There was a little man wearing a sock on his head that I had lost two years ago—a Ralph Lauren sock—black with a gray polo pony. My first impulse was to slam the closet door. Trembling, I asked “What are you? What are you doing?” He said, “My name is Footy. I make the question “Where is my sock?” I cause vexation and frustration from losing socks. Of course, I steal the socks and hide them where you’ll never find them. I know where Smokey is. If you can guess my age I’ll tell you.” I thought fast. “What’s your Social Security number?” I asked. He told me and I looked it up on my iPhone. It said he was 640 years old. There had to be a mistake, but I ventured a guess anyway. “640?” “You got me” he yelled. It was stupid to give you my Social Security Number—that’s included in Unit 1 of Pest School: “Maintain your Anonynmity.” So, what happens now?” I asked. “The map, the search, the retrieval,” he said. He handed me the map. There was a red “x” where my sock was located. The map took me deep into the woods. I had extensive experience orienteering, so I had no trouble following the map’s highlighted route. I got to the “x” after two days of dealing with rough terrain. When I arrived at the spot where my sock was supposed to be, there was an actual red “x” on the ground. I picked it up expecting to find my sock underneath. What I found underneath was a note. It said “Ha ha!”
I was so mad I wanted to kill the little imp, but that was not meant to be. I got home and unloaded my gear on my bedroom floor. My mother knocked on my door and came in my room. She was holding my missing Smokey the Bear sock! She told me when I was gone, the dishwasher drain had clogged and flooded the kitchen floor, and that my sock was the culprit.
When my mother went back downstairs I asked out loud “Why me?” The fake Smokey the Bear voice in my closet said “Only you can prevent forest fires.” I tore open my closet door, and there was a pile of my missing socks piled on the floor.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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