The black of the night has swallowed everything around me. There is nothing but me. The only source of light is the occasional search beam criss-crossing through the sky.

The night is bonita, the stars seem brighter than ever. Will they be the same on the other side? Or will my eyes change as well as my life?

I look around and enjoy my last night, ever, in Méjico, maravilloso Méjico. If only mi madre y padre hadn’t passed, I’d still be there. I’d be playing with mis primos y primas, mis hermanos y hermanas. I would sit in the garden while abuela made churros and abuelo told stories.

I wouldn’t have to be a ten-year old fugitive.

I tip-toe through the under brush, careful not to make a sound. I slow my breath, watch the guards, become one with nature. I wait for the distraction and ready myself to sprint. Months of practice, years of planning; is this what it’s all for?

I hear the shouts of the soldiers and I make a run for it.

I smile as my new life begins.
“Welcome to America, hombre.”