Kayla Ross
Ms.Defeo
Fiction Writing
“Sole Survivor”
Stiff air engulfed the 42nd Subway station, feet hustled by quickly, shoulders were aligned and a dim light flickered in sync with the morning rush. An older weary man, carried a large patterned cloth over his shoulder, his battered clothes swept the subway floor while long gray strands of hair surrounded his face. He made his way over to wooden benches and laid down the bag that had been such a burden on his back.
“Get your shoes right here folks , Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today ! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don't you dare let prices and advertisements fool you ! My soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but in the end , remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.”
Every morning the silky linen sheets greet Brent’s face, while the sun beams down onto his eyelids. Loud honks, clock alarms and the humming of birds, all enters his ears. The beautiful yellow taxis, resembling butterfly fish, swim in the street. Multiples of green trees bud pollen and acorns. Brent slips into his majestic velvet robe, wipes the corner of his eyes and heads into his Victorian-styled kitchen, the scent of Kopi Luwak coffee penetrates his nose and the smell of bacon and egg steams his nose hairs. Brent’s house - keeper, Melanie irons his Armani Exchange suit, while he reads the Wall Street Journal, the small-printed “Recession deepens: More Jobs Lost, “Homeless number now at peak” fails to catch his eye. What should I care about the homeless? Always begging for change , someone has to be on the bottom so others can be on top. I deserve everything I have, money runs through my veins, Brent thought to himself. He then checks NASDAQ and is relieved to see that his stocks are at peak. He opens the door to his emory closet and is greeted by a multitude of colors: dark blues, a range of beige, magentas and grays. He quickly skims over his collection of shoes where my newest addition awaits : Ferragamos. Fresh out the box, custom made and delivered straight to my door, soles clean. It feels good to be at top, who cares about the bottom? He murmured . He slips into his Burberry Suede trench coat and rushes into the train station. “Get your shoes right here folks” the sound of an old hag’s voice fills his ear drums, interrupting Brent’s relaxed mood. The shining light of train captures his pupils as he heads to the front, suddenly Brent feels a splash of hot substance dripping down his arms, it’s coffee. In front of me was a wide-eyed woman, dressed in a blue uniform, with the embroidery of the name Marisela sewed onto the pocket.
“I’m sorry sir , Please forgive me ” ,she yelled while running into the open train door. Brent was frozen in his steps speechless, watching the idiot who ruined his seven-hundred dollar coat leave without any sort of reimbursement.
The train doors close behind Marisela, giving her freedom from her embarrassing encounter. A seat catches her eye and suddenly the curtains of her eye-lids clamp together. The half empty cup of coffee in her hands begins to sink, and suddenly she is awakened by a sharp pain through her foot, when someone accidentally steps on it. She is then quickly pulled back into her reality. The air is heavy, lights are bright and “excuse me’s,” following nose blowing and sniffling, are all in heavy rotation. The iron doors open, finally allowing Marisela an escape, and suddenly she is engulfed into a new world. Shoulders barge by her, gray pigeons bob by the sides of her legs. Men sing “Extra!” “Extra!“ tourists’ look like helpless flounders in a sea of sharks. They remain, mouths open, shocked and wide-eyed at the busy environment that goes by the name of New York City. “I wish I could be a tourist” Marisela thought. Commuting and working become habitual, holidays or a relaxed weekend has never even been in my vocabulary. She then enter Levi Jean Company and begins her work. Robotic movements, hands steady, Uniform blue, name tag positioned, loose strands of hair gelled back neat, small earrings in her ear. Sweat drips down her neck leaving her pupils to be subdued by the multiple dark blues, and blacks that pass by me one-by-one. Sew, Sew, Stitch, Stitch, Stitch, minutes turn to hours, seconds turn into minutes until release time. Her legs are weak, her head throbbing but she knows her pain will pay off in the green dollar. Her sole may be worn out and thin but she will stay optimistic. She heads to exit , and is greeted by a short man , whose face is covered by a cap.
“Ms. Are you hiring?” Joel asked.
“I’m not the boss , I just work here” Marisela responded.
Joel’s face was flushed of dissapointment.
“Thank you” he said.
Marisela felt the strangers pain as she watched him trail over to an burgundy bench near by.
Joel felt defeated, he reached into his book bag and retrieved a note book out of it. “Letters to Abuela” It read on the front. He took out a pen that lay in his pocket and began to write.
Abuela, times are hard , a terrible incident happened to me this morning. This is how it went:
So the cold air slaps the side of my face, and the sky is painted a dark shade of blue, men sit on steps, others lean against the wall. New York fills my lungs yet and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth. I miss my Puebla and you Abuelita , I miss the beautiful skyline the soft my toes and fingertips. Puebla accepts my people and myself, Women carry gallons of water on their shoulders, while men come home covered in dirt and sweat leaving the setting sun behind them. Children head to farms instead of reaching for books. Not many were better off than others, unlike in New York where we immigrants were looked down upon as scum. Anyways Abuela let me finish my story, A large gray rat then jolts across my feet and runs back into the heap of garbage where it came from. Car lights shines on our faces, none stopping, hopefully one would. Eager eyes try to anticipate the car that would answer prayers, for work is not a guarantee and neither was food, but being in America surely guarantees more full bellies than being at home. It allows my children to go to school and follow a dreams, a gateway out of the multiple construction jobs I always perform. I glance at an advertisement it seems to be for NIKE, the only words I seem to make out is “run to your potential” . The rest of the words twist and dance on the poster, pure gibberish. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, as a red truck honks loudly and men scream out, “Come on! Move, Move!.” I pick up my red backpack and run towards the car, my palms sweaty, my feet beginning to ache even before my day has even started. Blue jeans, dirty corduroys all passes me, the exhausts blows off in my face, causing my eyes to squint. I was miserable Abuela it seemed like a bad dream. What was even more terrible was that it was my fault, I should have been paying attention. What will little Consuela eat? That fifty six dollars would have went a long way. Now what? The truck seemed to depart in slow motion, all the men on it had smirks on their faces. Some stood and some sat at the edge of it , revealing soles. Soles that are dirty, soles worn out, soles in need of change but my soul is filled with hope and optimism for what is to come. I will write to you soon Abuela I will not let this get me down. -Joel
Joel put the notebook back into his book bag and walked to the train station. He walked onto the platform and noticing an old man , with plenty of shoes in his hand. He had battered shoes, shoes that looked brand new, stilleto’s, baby shoes and even NIKEs.
“Get your shoes right here folks , Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today ! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don't you dare let prices and advertisements fool you ! My soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but
in the end remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Revised Draft - old man
Kayla Ross
Ms.Defeo
Fiction Writing
“Sole Survivor”
Stiff air engulfed the 42nd Subway station, feet hustled by quickly, shoulders were aligned and a dim light flickered in sync with the morning rush. An older weary man, carried a large patterned cloth over his shoulder, his battered clothes swept the subway floor while long gray strands of hair surrounded his face. He made his way over to wooden benches and laid down the bag that had been such a burden on his back.
“Get your shoes right here folks , Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today ! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don't you dare let prices and advertisements fool you ! My soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but in the end , remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.”
Every morning the silky linen sheets greet my face, while the sun beams down onto my eyelids. Loud honks, clock alarms and the humming of birds, all entered my ears. The beautiful yellow taxis, resembling butterfly fish, swim in the street. Multiples of green trees bud pollen and acorns. I slip into my majestic velvet robe, wipe the corner of my eyes and head into my Victorian-styled kitchen, the scent of Kopi Luwak coffee penetrates my nose and the smell of bacon and egg steams my nose hairs. My house - keeper, Melanie irons my Armani Exchange suit, while I read the Wall Street Journal, the small-printed “Recession deepens: More Jobs Lost, “Homeless number now at peak” fails to catch my eye. What should I care about the homeless? Always begging for change , someone has to be on the bottom so others can be on top. I deserve everything I have, money runs through my veins. I check NASDAQ and am relieved that my stocks are at peak. I then walk to my closet and am greeted by a multitude of colors: dark blues, a range of beige, magentas and grays. I skim over my collection of shoes where my newest addition awaits me: Ferragamos. Fresh out the box, custom made and delivered straight to my door, soles clean. It feels good to be at top, who cares about the bottom? I grabbed my Burberry Suede trench coat and rushed into the train station. “Get your shoes right here folks” the sound of an old hag’s voice filled my ear drums, interrupting the relaxed mood I had worked so hard to maintain this morning. The shining light of train captured my pupil and I headed to the front, suddenly I felt a splash of substance fall on to my arms, it was coffee. In front of me was a wide-eyed woman.
“I’m sorry sir , Please forgive me ” ,she yelled while running into the open train door. I was frozen in my steps, speechless and watched the idiot who ruined my seven-hundred dollar coat leave without any sort of reimbursement.
The train doors close behind me which, gave me freedom from my embarrassing encounter. A seat catches my eye and suddenly the curtains of my eye-lid begin to shut.
The half empty cup of coffee in my hand begins to sink, and I’m suddenly awakened by the pain of my foot when someone accidentally steps on it. I’m then pulled back into my reality. The air is heavy, lights are bright and “excuse me’s,” following nose blowing and sniffling, are all in heavy rotation. The iron doors open, finally allowing me my freedom, and I’m engulfed into a new world. Shoulders barge by me, gray pigeons bob by the side of my legs. While men sing “Extra!” “Extra!“ tourists’ look like helpless flounders in a sea of sharks. They remain, mouths open, shocked and wide-eyed at the busy environment that goes by the name of New York City. Commuting and working become habitual, holidays or a relaxed weekend has never been in my vocabulary. It is the work that many loathe but for me it makes ends meet. Robotic movements, hands steady, Uniform blue, name tag positioned, loose strands of hair gelled back neat, small earrings in my ear. Sweat drips down my neck, my pupils subdued by the multiple dark blues, and blacks that pass by me one-by-one. Sew, Sew, Stitch, Stitch, Stitch, minutes turn to hours, seconds turn into minutes until release time. My legs weak, head throbbing but I know all my pain will pay off in the green dollar. My poor shoes, laces brown, tongues battered, soles worn out and thin. I’m ready to quit, but I will stay optimistic.
The cold air slaps the side of my face, the sky painted a dark shade of blue, men sit on steps, others lean against the wall. New York fills my lungs yet and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth. I miss my Puebla, I miss my beautiful skyline the soft my toes and fingertips. Puebla accepts my people and myself, There is an overall struggle in Puebla, women carry gallons of water on their shoulders, while men come home covered in dirt and sweat leaving the setting sun behind them. Children head to farms instead of reaching for books. Not many were better off than others, unlike New York where we immigrants were looked down upon as scum. A large gray rat jolts across my feet and back into the heap of garbage where it came from. Car lights shines on our faces, none stopping, hopefully one would. Eager eyes try to anticipate the car that would answer prayers, for work is not a guarantee and neither was food, but being in America surely guarantees more full bellies than being at home. It allows my children to go to school and follow a dreams, a gateway out of the multiple construction jobs I always perform. I glance at an advertisement it seems to be for NIKE, the only words I seem to make out is “run to your potential” . The rest of the words twist and dance on the poster, pure gibberish. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, as a red truck honks loudly and men scream out, “Come on! Move, Move!.” I pick up my red backpack and run towards the car, my palms sweaty, my feet beginning to ache even before my day has even started. Blue jeans, dirty corduroys all passes me, the exhausts blows off in my face, causing my eyes to squint. My god I’ve missed the truck! This seems like a bad dream. This can’t be happening. It’s my fault, I should have been paying attention. What will my children eat? that fifty six dollars would have went a long way. Now what? The truck seemed to depart in slow motion, the men on it had smirks on their faces. Some stand and some sit at the edge of it , revealing soles. Soles that are dirty, soles worn out, soles in need of change but my soul is filled with hope and optimism for what is to come.
Millions of soles pass, all going to different destinations, these soles tend to divide and give status to the ones who wear them, almost highlighting the economic power one group has over another. The human ladder defines us, slowly moving while soles step on one another to reach the top. We must never forget the position of a sole does not matter , the New York City concrete devours all soles, in the end we are all bare , with one differentiation : our souls.
Ms.Defeo
Fiction Writing
“Sole Survivor”
Stiff air engulfed the 42nd Subway station, feet hustled by quickly, shoulders were aligned and a dim light flickered in sync with the morning rush. An older weary man, carried a large patterned cloth over his shoulder, his battered clothes swept the subway floor while long gray strands of hair surrounded his face. He made his way over to wooden benches and laid down the bag that had been such a burden on his back.
“Get your shoes right here folks , Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today ! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don't you dare let prices and advertisements fool you ! My soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but in the end , remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.”
Every morning the silky linen sheets greet my face, while the sun beams down onto my eyelids. Loud honks, clock alarms and the humming of birds, all entered my ears. The beautiful yellow taxis, resembling butterfly fish, swim in the street. Multiples of green trees bud pollen and acorns. I slip into my majestic velvet robe, wipe the corner of my eyes and head into my Victorian-styled kitchen, the scent of Kopi Luwak coffee penetrates my nose and the smell of bacon and egg steams my nose hairs. My house - keeper, Melanie irons my Armani Exchange suit, while I read the Wall Street Journal, the small-printed “Recession deepens: More Jobs Lost, “Homeless number now at peak” fails to catch my eye. What should I care about the homeless? Always begging for change , someone has to be on the bottom so others can be on top. I deserve everything I have, money runs through my veins. I check NASDAQ and am relieved that my stocks are at peak. I then walk to my closet and am greeted by a multitude of colors: dark blues, a range of beige, magentas and grays. I skim over my collection of shoes where my newest addition awaits me: Ferragamos. Fresh out the box, custom made and delivered straight to my door, soles clean. It feels good to be at top, who cares about the bottom? I grabbed my Burberry Suede trench coat and rushed into the train station. “Get your shoes right here folks” the sound of an old hag’s voice filled my ear drums, interrupting the relaxed mood I had worked so hard to maintain this morning. The shining light of train captured my pupil and I headed to the front, suddenly I felt a splash of substance fall on to my arms, it was coffee. In front of me was a wide-eyed woman.
“I’m sorry sir , Please forgive me ” ,she yelled while running into the open train door. I was frozen in my steps, speechless and watched the idiot who ruined my seven-hundred dollar coat leave without any sort of reimbursement.
The train doors close behind me which, gave me freedom from my embarrassing encounter. A seat catches my eye and suddenly the curtains of my eye-lid begin to shut.
The half empty cup of coffee in my hand begins to sink, and I’m suddenly awakened by the pain of my foot when someone accidentally steps on it. I’m then pulled back into my reality. The air is heavy, lights are bright and “excuse me’s,” following nose blowing and sniffling, are all in heavy rotation. The iron doors open, finally allowing me my freedom, and I’m engulfed into a new world. Shoulders barge by me, gray pigeons bob by the side of my legs. While men sing “Extra!” “Extra!“ tourists’ look like helpless flounders in a sea of sharks. They remain, mouths open, shocked and wide-eyed at the busy environment that goes by the name of New York City. Commuting and working become habitual, holidays or a relaxed weekend has never been in my vocabulary. It is the work that many loathe but for me it makes ends meet. Robotic movements, hands steady, Uniform blue, name tag positioned, loose strands of hair gelled back neat, small earrings in my ear. Sweat drips down my neck, my pupils subdued by the multiple dark blues, and blacks that pass by me one-by-one. Sew, Sew, Stitch, Stitch, Stitch, minutes turn to hours, seconds turn into minutes until release time. My legs weak, head throbbing but I know all my pain will pay off in the green dollar. My poor shoes, laces brown, tongues battered, soles worn out and thin. I’m ready to quit, but I will stay optimistic.
The cold air slaps the side of my face, the sky painted a dark shade of blue, men sit on steps, others lean against the wall. New York fills my lungs yet and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth. I miss my Puebla, I miss my beautiful skyline the soft my toes and fingertips. Puebla accepts my people and myself, There is an overall struggle in Puebla, women carry gallons of water on their shoulders, while men come home covered in dirt and sweat leaving the setting sun behind them. Children head to farms instead of reaching for books. Not many were better off than others, unlike New York where we immigrants were looked down upon as scum. A large gray rat jolts across my feet and back into the heap of garbage where it came from. Car lights shines on our faces, none stopping, hopefully one would. Eager eyes try to anticipate the car that would answer prayers, for work is not a guarantee and neither was food, but being in America surely guarantees more full bellies than being at home. It allows my children to go to school and follow a dreams, a gateway out of the multiple construction jobs I always perform. I glance at an advertisement it seems to be for NIKE, the only words I seem to make out is “run to your potential” . The rest of the words twist and dance on the poster, pure gibberish. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, as a red truck honks loudly and men scream out, “Come on! Move, Move!.” I pick up my red backpack and run towards the car, my palms sweaty, my feet beginning to ache even before my day has even started. Blue jeans, dirty corduroys all passes me, the exhausts blows off in my face, causing my eyes to squint. My god I’ve missed the truck! This seems like a bad dream. This can’t be happening. It’s my fault, I should have been paying attention. What will my children eat? that fifty six dollars would have went a long way. Now what? The truck seemed to depart in slow motion, the men on it had smirks on their faces. Some stand and some sit at the edge of it , revealing soles. Soles that are dirty, soles worn out, soles in need of change but my soul is filled with hope and optimism for what is to come.
Millions of soles pass, all going to different destinations, these soles tend to divide and give status to the ones who wear them, almost highlighting the economic power one group has over another. The human ladder defines us, slowly moving while soles step on one another to reach the top. We must never forget the position of a sole does not matter , the New York City concrete devours all soles, in the end we are all bare , with one differentiation : our souls.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Sole Survivor
“Sole Survivor”
“Get your shoes right here folks, Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don’t you dare let prices and advertisements fool you! Keep moving on this human ladder! Don’t fall behind, make your money! However, my soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but in the end, remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.”
Every morning the silky linen sheets greet my face, while the sun beams down onto my eyelids. Loud honks, clock alarms and the humming of birds, all entered my ears. The beautiful yellow taxis, resembling butterfly fish, swim in the street. Multiples of green trees bud pollen and acorns. I slip into my majestic velvet robe, wipe the corner of my eyes and head into my Victorian-styled kitchen, the scent of Kopi Luwak coffee penetrates my nose and the smell of bacon and egg steams my nose hairs. My house - keeper, Melanie irons my Armani Exchange suit, while I read the Wall Street Journal, the small-printed “Recession deepens: More Jobs Lost, “Homeless number now at peak” fails to catch my eye. What should I care about the homeless? Always begging for change, someone has to be on the bottom so others can be on top. I deserve everything I have, money runs through my veins. I check NASDAQ and am relieved that my stocks are at peak. I then walk to my closet and am greeted by a multitude of colors: dark blues, a range of beige, magentas and grays. I skim over my collection of shoes where my newest addition awaits me: Ferragamos. Fresh out the box, custom made and delivered straight to my door, soles clean. It feels good to be at top, who cares about the bottom?
Next stop: 86th Street, My eyes droop and my head meets my lap, the cup of coffee in my hand begins to sink, and I’m awakened by the pain of my foot when someone accidentally steps on it. The air is heavy, lights are bright and “excuse me’s,” following nose blowing and sniffling, are all in heavy rotation. The iron doors open, allowing me my freedom, and I’m engulfed into a new world. Shoulders barge by me, gray pigeons bob by the side of my legs. Men sing “Extra!” “Extra!” and tourists’ look like helpless flounders in a sea of sharks. They remain mouths open, shocked and wide-eyed at the busy environment that goes by the name of New York City. Commuting and working become habitual, holidays or a relaxed weekend has never been in my vocabulary. It is the work that many loathe but for me it makes ends meet. Robotic movements, hands steady, uniform blue, name tag positioned, loose strands of hair gelled back neat, small earrings in my ear. Sweat drips down my neck, my pupils subdued by the multiple dark blues, and blacks that pass by me one-by-one. Minutes turn to hours, seconds turn into minutes until release time. My legs weak, head throbbing but I know all my pain will pay off in the green dollar. My poor shoes, laces brown, tongues battered, soles worn out and thin, while something inside pushes to get through these days. I will stay optimistic.
The cold air slaps the side of my face, the sky painted a dark shade of blue, men sit on steps, and others lean against the wall. New York fills my lungs yet and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth. I miss my Puebla, I miss my beautiful skyline the soft my toes and fingertips. Puebla accepts my people and myself, There is an overall struggle in Puebla, women carry gallons of water on their shoulders, while men come home covered in dirt and sweat leaving the setting sun behind them. Children head to farms instead of reaching for books. Not many were better off than others, unlike New York where we immigrants were looked down upon as scum. A large gray rat jolts across my feet and back into the heap of garbage where it came from. Car lights shines on our faces, none stopping, hopefully one would. Eager eyes try to anticipate the car that would answer prayers, for work is not a guarantee and neither was food, but being in America surely guarantees more full bellies than being at home. It allows my children to go to school and follow their dreams, a gateway out of the multiple construction jobs I always perform. I glance at an advertisement it seems to be for NIKE, the only words I seem to make out is “run to your potential”, the rest of the words twist and dance on the poster, pure gibberish. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, as a red truck honks loudly and men scream out, “Come on! Move, Move!” I pick up my red backpack and run towards the car, my palms sweaty, and my feet beginning to ache even before my day has even started. Blue jean, dirty corduroys all passes me, the exhausts blows off in my face, causing my eyes to squint. My god I’ve missed the truck! This seems like a bad dream. This can’t be happening. It’s my fault; I should have been paying attention. What will my children eat? That fifty six dollars would have went a long way. Now what? The truck seemed to depart in slow motion; the men on it had smirks on their faces. Some stand some sit at the edge of it, all revealing soles. Soles that are dirty, soles worn out, soles in need of change but my soul is filled with hope and optimism for what is to come.
Millions of soles pass, all going to different destinations, these soles tend to divide and give status to the ones who wear them, almost highlighting the economic power one group has over another. The human ladder defines us, slowly moving while soles step on one another to reach the top. We must never forget the position of a sole does not matter , the New York City concrete devours all soles, in the end we are all bare , with one differentiation : our souls.
“Get your shoes right here folks, Come rest your poor tired soles, New York takes a toil on poor souls and we have a special on soles today! Get em here! Get em here! Together, we may have soles that look different but my soles are all the same! No sole is better than the other, I swear! Don’t you dare let prices and advertisements fool you! Keep moving on this human ladder! Don’t fall behind, make your money! However, my soles are all one prices. How you dress up your sole depends completely on you but in the end, remember sole does not make the man, it's the man that makes the sole.”
Every morning the silky linen sheets greet my face, while the sun beams down onto my eyelids. Loud honks, clock alarms and the humming of birds, all entered my ears. The beautiful yellow taxis, resembling butterfly fish, swim in the street. Multiples of green trees bud pollen and acorns. I slip into my majestic velvet robe, wipe the corner of my eyes and head into my Victorian-styled kitchen, the scent of Kopi Luwak coffee penetrates my nose and the smell of bacon and egg steams my nose hairs. My house - keeper, Melanie irons my Armani Exchange suit, while I read the Wall Street Journal, the small-printed “Recession deepens: More Jobs Lost, “Homeless number now at peak” fails to catch my eye. What should I care about the homeless? Always begging for change, someone has to be on the bottom so others can be on top. I deserve everything I have, money runs through my veins. I check NASDAQ and am relieved that my stocks are at peak. I then walk to my closet and am greeted by a multitude of colors: dark blues, a range of beige, magentas and grays. I skim over my collection of shoes where my newest addition awaits me: Ferragamos. Fresh out the box, custom made and delivered straight to my door, soles clean. It feels good to be at top, who cares about the bottom?
Next stop: 86th Street, My eyes droop and my head meets my lap, the cup of coffee in my hand begins to sink, and I’m awakened by the pain of my foot when someone accidentally steps on it. The air is heavy, lights are bright and “excuse me’s,” following nose blowing and sniffling, are all in heavy rotation. The iron doors open, allowing me my freedom, and I’m engulfed into a new world. Shoulders barge by me, gray pigeons bob by the side of my legs. Men sing “Extra!” “Extra!” and tourists’ look like helpless flounders in a sea of sharks. They remain mouths open, shocked and wide-eyed at the busy environment that goes by the name of New York City. Commuting and working become habitual, holidays or a relaxed weekend has never been in my vocabulary. It is the work that many loathe but for me it makes ends meet. Robotic movements, hands steady, uniform blue, name tag positioned, loose strands of hair gelled back neat, small earrings in my ear. Sweat drips down my neck, my pupils subdued by the multiple dark blues, and blacks that pass by me one-by-one. Minutes turn to hours, seconds turn into minutes until release time. My legs weak, head throbbing but I know all my pain will pay off in the green dollar. My poor shoes, laces brown, tongues battered, soles worn out and thin, while something inside pushes to get through these days. I will stay optimistic.
The cold air slaps the side of my face, the sky painted a dark shade of blue, men sit on steps, and others lean against the wall. New York fills my lungs yet and leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth. I miss my Puebla, I miss my beautiful skyline the soft my toes and fingertips. Puebla accepts my people and myself, There is an overall struggle in Puebla, women carry gallons of water on their shoulders, while men come home covered in dirt and sweat leaving the setting sun behind them. Children head to farms instead of reaching for books. Not many were better off than others, unlike New York where we immigrants were looked down upon as scum. A large gray rat jolts across my feet and back into the heap of garbage where it came from. Car lights shines on our faces, none stopping, hopefully one would. Eager eyes try to anticipate the car that would answer prayers, for work is not a guarantee and neither was food, but being in America surely guarantees more full bellies than being at home. It allows my children to go to school and follow their dreams, a gateway out of the multiple construction jobs I always perform. I glance at an advertisement it seems to be for NIKE, the only words I seem to make out is “run to your potential”, the rest of the words twist and dance on the poster, pure gibberish. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, as a red truck honks loudly and men scream out, “Come on! Move, Move!” I pick up my red backpack and run towards the car, my palms sweaty, and my feet beginning to ache even before my day has even started. Blue jean, dirty corduroys all passes me, the exhausts blows off in my face, causing my eyes to squint. My god I’ve missed the truck! This seems like a bad dream. This can’t be happening. It’s my fault; I should have been paying attention. What will my children eat? That fifty six dollars would have went a long way. Now what? The truck seemed to depart in slow motion; the men on it had smirks on their faces. Some stand some sit at the edge of it, all revealing soles. Soles that are dirty, soles worn out, soles in need of change but my soul is filled with hope and optimism for what is to come.
Millions of soles pass, all going to different destinations, these soles tend to divide and give status to the ones who wear them, almost highlighting the economic power one group has over another. The human ladder defines us, slowly moving while soles step on one another to reach the top. We must never forget the position of a sole does not matter , the New York City concrete devours all soles, in the end we are all bare , with one differentiation : our souls.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Journal 6
Ashley pushed open her door and kicked of her heels. She bent down to grab her mail getting back up she put her hand on her back and got up ever so gingerly. Walking into the kitchen she put down her bag on the counter top and began to look through the mail
"Lets see what we have here. Bill, bill, bill its always bills with these people."
Finally she came upon her AARP medical supplies which she need for her carpoltonel. As she put down her bills she began to walk to her bathroom. She opens the door and the smell of Bengay and Elizabeth Arden perfume, she took off her clothes and got in the shower. After her shower she grabbed her towel wrapped it around her body. She stepped into the middle in the floor and looked into the mirror and began to talk to herself in the middle of her critic she pulled out her make-up caboodle. After a hour of make up, she was finally ready to get dressed. She walked into her bedroom grabbed her black dress, that began to gather dusk because it was out for so long. She slid right into it and then she threw on her shoes. After 2 hours of preparation she was ready to go. Getting into her Buick, she took off down the street. She finally reached the front of the club. she got out of the car and walked to the bouncer and asked.
Can I get in Mr.
Whoa miss how you just come the front and demand stuff like that what I look like.
Sir bouncer guy do you know who I am I'm the best lawyer in the state of new York.
I don't care if your tyra banks I'm not letting you in. Really did you look at you self in the mirror. How old are you 55, 60 and god DAMN! what is that smell is that Bengay. What you doing coming to club smelling like Bengay all these girls in here smell like a beautiful rose and you coming here smelling like Bengay no man going to come talk to you smelling like that. You should just go home take 3 showers then come back and then I might let you in.
Feeling like her walls were shattered, she walked away with embarrassment written on her face. The drive back home was very depressing and she just couldn’t understand how this could be. She thought of herself as being fairly young but couldn’t figure out what everyone else saw. Times were changing but she seemed to be stuck in the past. After rolling into her driveway, she climbed out of the car and headed to the front door. Creeping up the stairs, she finally made it to her room. The paint chipped walls were colored in red while he bed was covered in silk satin sheets. Bright colors always caught her eye because the darker ones always brought her back to reality. Standing in front of her bureau, looking in her mirror she wiped every bit of makeup that was ever laid upon her face. She saw the true her. She wanted to fit where she belonged.
"Lets see what we have here. Bill, bill, bill its always bills with these people."
Finally she came upon her AARP medical supplies which she need for her carpoltonel. As she put down her bills she began to walk to her bathroom. She opens the door and the smell of Bengay and Elizabeth Arden perfume, she took off her clothes and got in the shower. After her shower she grabbed her towel wrapped it around her body. She stepped into the middle in the floor and looked into the mirror and began to talk to herself in the middle of her critic she pulled out her make-up caboodle. After a hour of make up, she was finally ready to get dressed. She walked into her bedroom grabbed her black dress, that began to gather dusk because it was out for so long. She slid right into it and then she threw on her shoes. After 2 hours of preparation she was ready to go. Getting into her Buick, she took off down the street. She finally reached the front of the club. she got out of the car and walked to the bouncer and asked.
Can I get in Mr.
Whoa miss how you just come the front and demand stuff like that what I look like.
Sir bouncer guy do you know who I am I'm the best lawyer in the state of new York.
I don't care if your tyra banks I'm not letting you in. Really did you look at you self in the mirror. How old are you 55, 60 and god DAMN! what is that smell is that Bengay. What you doing coming to club smelling like Bengay all these girls in here smell like a beautiful rose and you coming here smelling like Bengay no man going to come talk to you smelling like that. You should just go home take 3 showers then come back and then I might let you in.
Feeling like her walls were shattered, she walked away with embarrassment written on her face. The drive back home was very depressing and she just couldn’t understand how this could be. She thought of herself as being fairly young but couldn’t figure out what everyone else saw. Times were changing but she seemed to be stuck in the past. After rolling into her driveway, she climbed out of the car and headed to the front door. Creeping up the stairs, she finally made it to her room. The paint chipped walls were colored in red while he bed was covered in silk satin sheets. Bright colors always caught her eye because the darker ones always brought her back to reality. Standing in front of her bureau, looking in her mirror she wiped every bit of makeup that was ever laid upon her face. She saw the true her. She wanted to fit where she belonged.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Symbolism story
Melissa and her friend Sammie drive up to the Palisades mall. After an hour drive their relived to get out of Melissa cramped smart car.
Sammie - Wow that was a drive
Melissa- You said it
They begin to walk towards the mall. They walk to the 3rd floor and make a bee line for H&M. Their going to shop because it is Saturdays is Sammie sexy and single 25th birthday party.
M- Wow I like this, this and this
(Picking up random items)
S- Umm, Don’t you have a little bit too much things? And Didn’t I say I want that!
(Snatching the scarf from Melinda hand)
M-No I have everything I need! And Oh well YOU put it down.
S- You took it out of my cart!
M- Who cares, it was cute and now it’s mine
Melinda said, skipping happily into the dressing room
S- Like always
Sammie mumbled, rolling her eyes.
M- What do you mean like always?
Melinda said stopping in her steps
S- I’m just saying you always have to get more than you can have, and EVEN what I want .
M- Everything always looks better on me than it does on you, its not my fault. Plus you wouldn't treat it right anyway
S- What do you mean everything always fits you?
M- I’m just saying if it catches my eye than Im just going to take it
S- This what I’m talking about
M- It’s not my fault you’re jealous
S- I saw it first Melinda and I told you I wanted it. You need to learn how to respect that and respect my feeling
M- Oh well, I don’t care I always get what I want and who I want.
S- Alright, I’m done here
Sammie - Wow that was a drive
Melissa- You said it
They begin to walk towards the mall. They walk to the 3rd floor and make a bee line for H&M. Their going to shop because it is Saturdays is Sammie sexy and single 25th birthday party.
M- Wow I like this, this and this
(Picking up random items)
S- Umm, Don’t you have a little bit too much things? And Didn’t I say I want that!
(Snatching the scarf from Melinda hand)
M-No I have everything I need! And Oh well YOU put it down.
S- You took it out of my cart!
M- Who cares, it was cute and now it’s mine
Melinda said, skipping happily into the dressing room
S- Like always
Sammie mumbled, rolling her eyes.
M- What do you mean like always?
Melinda said stopping in her steps
S- I’m just saying you always have to get more than you can have, and EVEN what I want .
M- Everything always looks better on me than it does on you, its not my fault. Plus you wouldn't treat it right anyway
S- What do you mean everything always fits you?
M- I’m just saying if it catches my eye than Im just going to take it
S- This what I’m talking about
M- It’s not my fault you’re jealous
S- I saw it first Melinda and I told you I wanted it. You need to learn how to respect that and respect my feeling
M- Oh well, I don’t care I always get what I want and who I want.
S- Alright, I’m done here
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Story Machine
The birds were chirping, the sun beamed into Rosedale HIgh. The kids burst into the red large doors, eyes darting back and forth looking for familiar faces, the slamming of lockers sang in unison. Each person in their own world , some singing, shouting and yelling until Janitor Eddie showed up. They all froze and Eddie got straight to work. He began to mop the foor but it was hard to do with the millions of feet in front of him. "Excuse Me" Eddie said "I'm going to need you all to move." The kids stayed frozen no one listening to him or paying attention. "HEllO Kids I'm going to need you to move ! " "Please, please move." Eddie whimpered. Excuse me sir he hears an elderly voice say, he then felt a bludgeon
in his shoulder.
Eddie then woke up to see an old wrinkled man standing in front of him.” Please move, sir" your blocking my seat, the man asked him. Eddie scooted to the other side of the seat, quickly feeling bad because of the multiple eyes that shot him dirty looks. "Why do I always have to move, when people ask them to but they could never move for me he thought. A young man the stepped on to the bus and stood over Eddie eating a mc chicken. The remnants of the mc chicken fell onto the floor and Eddie had the urge to pick it up. The young man then took a napkin out of his pocket, which fell directly on to the floor.
“Excuse me man, can you get that for me?” the boy asked,
“No get it your self!” Eddie whimpered.
The young man looked wide-eyed at Eddie , while moving as further away as he could from his rage. Eddie folded his arms, annoyed. Little did he know what awaited him next.
A young woman of about her mid twenties came on the bus with her two children. The kids ran straight to towards the area where he was sitting, while their mother dug in her coin purse for change. The kids resisted holding on to the pole, screaming “WOOAHHH” “I’m falling” sliding back and forth while the bus was in motion. Eddie felt as if it was his duty to tell them to stop. “Kids , hold on and bequiet!” he said. Next thing you know an angry lioness was on her way to defend her cubs. “Look Mr. you better not be yelling at my children!” Eddie had no response to this, and once again felt stepped over.
“I don’t know why nobody appreciates or listen to me,” he said sniffling.
“I’m tired of it’’. He then kicked open the emergency exit and threw himself out the window. Poor Eddie.
in his shoulder.
Eddie then woke up to see an old wrinkled man standing in front of him.” Please move, sir" your blocking my seat, the man asked him. Eddie scooted to the other side of the seat, quickly feeling bad because of the multiple eyes that shot him dirty looks. "Why do I always have to move, when people ask them to but they could never move for me he thought. A young man the stepped on to the bus and stood over Eddie eating a mc chicken. The remnants of the mc chicken fell onto the floor and Eddie had the urge to pick it up. The young man then took a napkin out of his pocket, which fell directly on to the floor.
“Excuse me man, can you get that for me?” the boy asked,
“No get it your self!” Eddie whimpered.
The young man looked wide-eyed at Eddie , while moving as further away as he could from his rage. Eddie folded his arms, annoyed. Little did he know what awaited him next.
A young woman of about her mid twenties came on the bus with her two children. The kids ran straight to towards the area where he was sitting, while their mother dug in her coin purse for change. The kids resisted holding on to the pole, screaming “WOOAHHH” “I’m falling” sliding back and forth while the bus was in motion. Eddie felt as if it was his duty to tell them to stop. “Kids , hold on and bequiet!” he said. Next thing you know an angry lioness was on her way to defend her cubs. “Look Mr. you better not be yelling at my children!” Eddie had no response to this, and once again felt stepped over.
“I don’t know why nobody appreciates or listen to me,” he said sniffling.
“I’m tired of it’’. He then kicked open the emergency exit and threw himself out the window. Poor Eddie.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Fairytale
“Yes, I finally got someone to clean up around here” Mama Bear thought in her head. “I’m queen! I now can finally eat honey combs and watch Oprah Bear in peace. I could sleep late and paint my claws. Look at her , hair all gold and lovely. I’ll cut it all off, and put on my head, I’ll look just like Halle Beary.” OOOOHHH CHILDD. “Wait where is she going? I didn’t even get to show her where she would sleep yet. When am I going to get my rest?” Awww mannnn
Backward plotting
The cab pulls up to 505 Juana drive. Jessica gets out and proceeding to take her bags out of the trunk. As she is walking towards the house,her house sitter walks onto the patio and waves.
"Hello Ms. Jessica how was your vacation?"
"It was fine did you have any troubles with the house?" Jessica asked while tugging at her luggage.
"No, no problems". The house sitter responded.
She reaches the patio and looks at the door her house sitter Gloria open it for her.
"Thanks Gloria, I'll give you a call" she says, as the door slams behind her.
She walks ups the steps and looks to her left and notices a picture. It was the picture from last years fishing trip, her and her ex- boyfriend stood happily while holding their prize winning snapper.The picture was on a slant it was almost as if it was on the verge of falling off. She stared at the portrait and began to grow angry, she the felt a sudden urge to use the bathroom, so she ran upstairs.
The soothing smell of lavender and cinnamon greeted Jessica when she entered the bathroom. Her black and white tiles glistened, window was slightly cracked open, her burgundy shower curtain pulled half way back and her favorite magazines lay neatly stacked in the corner, everything was truly exquisite, for this she was relieved. Jessica glanced in the mirror and was astonished by the darkness that seemed to swallow her eye beds she felt sleep deprived and famished.Suddenly her attention was shifted on to a red object that lay in her soap dispenser. It was her red toothbrush! Jessica gritted her teeth, snatching the toothbrush from its location and plopped it down into the toothbrush holder. For minutes she danced with the toothbrush as it went from side to side, rocking between her hands trying to make it stand upwards, her hands gave up and the toothbrush layed lifelessly on the rim. Jessica heard the toothbrush snicker and felt defeated. She hung her head low and headed to her bedroom.
Leaving her shoes in front of the bedroom door, she entered the room. Walking past the chestnut colored bureau headed towards her king size bed she could feel the soft sheep fur beneath her toes. A bit tired, she began to rest her head against the soft cotton maroon colored pillows where in which she could smell the scent of lavender lingering around. She loved it. It always kept her calm and relaxed. Few minutes went by and she rolled over on her back to realize her closet door was slightly opened. Flying up off the bed, she stormed towards the closet and swung open both doors. Fire filled her veins and blood filled her face, she was furious. Everything was not the way she left it, where did this blue hanger come from? She had enough! It almost seems as if she walked into a house that was foreign to her. Running down the steps like she just seen a ghost she headed to the kitchen. Scrambling and making a ruckus with the cabinets, she found it. Grabbing the box of matches and the bottle of kerosene oil, she headed for the porch. Splashes of oil went everywhere and she didn’t care. Before you knew it the house was burning to the ground.
"Hello Ms. Jessica how was your vacation?"
"It was fine did you have any troubles with the house?" Jessica asked while tugging at her luggage.
"No, no problems". The house sitter responded.
She reaches the patio and looks at the door her house sitter Gloria open it for her.
"Thanks Gloria, I'll give you a call" she says, as the door slams behind her.
She walks ups the steps and looks to her left and notices a picture. It was the picture from last years fishing trip, her and her ex- boyfriend stood happily while holding their prize winning snapper.The picture was on a slant it was almost as if it was on the verge of falling off. She stared at the portrait and began to grow angry, she the felt a sudden urge to use the bathroom, so she ran upstairs.
The soothing smell of lavender and cinnamon greeted Jessica when she entered the bathroom. Her black and white tiles glistened, window was slightly cracked open, her burgundy shower curtain pulled half way back and her favorite magazines lay neatly stacked in the corner, everything was truly exquisite, for this she was relieved. Jessica glanced in the mirror and was astonished by the darkness that seemed to swallow her eye beds she felt sleep deprived and famished.Suddenly her attention was shifted on to a red object that lay in her soap dispenser. It was her red toothbrush! Jessica gritted her teeth, snatching the toothbrush from its location and plopped it down into the toothbrush holder. For minutes she danced with the toothbrush as it went from side to side, rocking between her hands trying to make it stand upwards, her hands gave up and the toothbrush layed lifelessly on the rim. Jessica heard the toothbrush snicker and felt defeated. She hung her head low and headed to her bedroom.
Leaving her shoes in front of the bedroom door, she entered the room. Walking past the chestnut colored bureau headed towards her king size bed she could feel the soft sheep fur beneath her toes. A bit tired, she began to rest her head against the soft cotton maroon colored pillows where in which she could smell the scent of lavender lingering around. She loved it. It always kept her calm and relaxed. Few minutes went by and she rolled over on her back to realize her closet door was slightly opened. Flying up off the bed, she stormed towards the closet and swung open both doors. Fire filled her veins and blood filled her face, she was furious. Everything was not the way she left it, where did this blue hanger come from? She had enough! It almost seems as if she walked into a house that was foreign to her. Running down the steps like she just seen a ghost she headed to the kitchen. Scrambling and making a ruckus with the cabinets, she found it. Grabbing the box of matches and the bottle of kerosene oil, she headed for the porch. Splashes of oil went everywhere and she didn’t care. Before you knew it the house was burning to the ground.
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