Mr. Fernandez lay back on the couch, taking a few minutes to relax after the nerve-wracking experience he had with Carmen. He closed his eyes, imagining he was outside, and a cool breeze blew on him. Surrounded by flowers, the air smelled of... dirt? And a bitter, sour sweat. He opened his eyes to see two huge brown soles towering far above him, looking to be over a hundred feel tall. He must have dozed off, and his son George had come over to the couch to lay down, his smelly, unwashed feet propped up on the armrest where his father dad was lying down. 

“Hey!” he called out to his son. 

George looked up from his book. “Oh hey dad. Didn’t see ya there.” Mr. Fernandez sighed and rolled his eyes. What if he had gotten trapped under his son’s heel? It was one thing for Carmen to barely watch over him, but his son hadn’t even noticed him. As he was musing this over, George took his feet off the armrest to scratch at an itch, and then returned them back to where they were. A sour-smelling breeze wafted into Mr. Fernandez as the feet landed just a few feet from Mr. Fernandez’s perspective. Now George had known about his dad being there but didn’t bother to put his feet down carefully. 

Mr. Fernandez decided it was best if he just leave the couch altogether, so he walked around his son’s feet and jumped off the armrest, onto the seat cushion below that made his landing a lot smoother. Before turning to jump onto the floor, he spotted one of the mini-remotes he used to control various appliances and electronics around the house, and jogged over to to retrieve it, underneath the shadow of his son’s legs. As he turned to head back, the gigantic creature above him shifted, and within seconds he saw one of the two massive feet come bearing down on him as his son changed resting positions. He was mashed into the cushion as his nose was assaulted with the strong bitter smell of the young feet that had probably been playing outside and hadn’t been washed in a couple days. He expected his son might feel his dad underneath his sole, but no reprieve ever came, and Mr. Fernandez was helpless to bash against the stinky sole because he was unable to move his arms or legs, just breathe in the smell of his son. 

After about 20 minutes, George got up to head to his room, and ended up scraping his dad onto the floor as he brought his foot down from the couch. His dad laid there, realizing he was lucky that George hadn't been sweaty, or else he might've stuck to his sole and been carried with him wherever he was going. Mr. Fernandez stood up, glad it was over, and watched as his son innocently trotted away, unaware that he had ever even trapped the tiny man underneath his dirty foot to begin with.