Final Draft

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.