GABRIELLA'S POV

17 and half years ago...

It was dark.

It was loud and scary.

The sounds of sirens filled the air. Anger and destruction was heard all around us as it interrupted the sound of nature's live creatures and the soft wind that used to color the air and sky changing into the dusk; sunset scenery. I didn't even recognized where I was since there was dust flying all around us and smoke from the fireballs and gunshots being thrown to the ground. I could've even see, me and my 9 year-old brother Joan had to hold my hand and guide me through the significant darkness of upper-north Mexico desert.

I was only 2 in a half years old when my mama and papa and hermano were running from the National Guard officers that guard this area, in sudden darkness so we could get pass to the US-Mexican border.

To freedom…


We were running my small hind legs were following the rhythm of Joan. I was small and weaker than him so I would be the one that would be slow and fall behind. But my older brother was fierce one in the group as he kept chanting and scolded me to hurry up. I tried my best to run with my brother, even when right in front of us were mother and father, taking heed and protecting us from the danger surrounding us as we run to our destination. It felt like we have been running forever from what I'd remembered. Joan kept yelling and forcing me to hurry up once more to run faster but all I did was cry since I was so confused and very scared. I didn't really know what was going on. All I knew that we're running from absolutely nothing and there was noise all around us.

As soon as the sun had set, we all were in complete darkness. Lights and loud yells of: "HALT" or "SURRENDER NOW" were forced everywhere. Then we all felt the wind grew harder and harder when the helicopter was a few feet above us and meters away from us. I felt like I was flying when the wind began to pick up. Joan had to pull me down a few times because of how light I was compared to the wind. Then there were sirens from police cars, horns from the control center from where we passed first thing. Fire trucks, SWAT team, even the FBI from the United States Gov. were ahead of us. Everything was just going wild as the crazy and dramatic noises were coming all over the place.

We managed to ignore everything and just kept on going. I felt myself growing as much as I could remember and began to cry to my brother, pleading to stop or slow down. I was really tired and began to stumble and slow me and Joan down. Joan commanded me to stop crying and grabbed hold of me and carried me over his shoulder and went to catch up with our parents.

It was getting darker and the light that was shining on us from the helicopter was not really helping us either. Now, if they were shining towards the fence that would've been very helpful. Who am I kidding; they wouldn't even bother helping us out; more like the opposite where they want to capture us.

Then...there was nothing but a complete blur...Joan had to tell me the rest of the story since I don't remember the rest. I was only 2 years old. How could I remember compared to Joan who he was 9 when this could?

He told me that my mother and father had to find another way to get to the fences without the guards getting to us too soon. So, we went to find a place where would not get to us in time. Somewhere Joan and I could get to safety first.

Joan said that there was only one way to get there which a lone, vacant part of the fences that had no officer or guards surrounding it.

All I saw was a huge blur again...all I remember...was Joan, I was still hanging on to him as he climbed us up that fence. Then, he said, with his voice shaking and his mouth quivering. My mama and papa were just trying to help us get to the other side.

My mother and father could get up there in time because they were caught by one of the officers by hand. Father was shot first.

My mother, still unharmed had got the chance to her last words before falling off the fence...along with mi papa...and both vanish into the cloudy, smoky darkness below.

"Gabriella…" Mama said, as softly as her exhausted voice gave her grief and sorrow, "mahal kita. You...you are safe now."

As soon as we knew it, as our parents gave us our last humble kiss, Joan described that moment, 'devastating and painful' as both of our parents vanishing and possibly executed behind the darkness of our used be so-called, "home".

As for me and Joan, we both were now orphans and finally to safety. We stood there, on the other side of the fence, my brother described as weeping in sorrow as he held me tight crying, "I'm sorry Gabby, I'm so sorry...Lo siento, lo siento…"

I didn't understand why he said that to me, when I was young, I didn't understand.

Until I remembered.


When I looked at most of the photos of them individually, as a couple, or as a big or small, happy family of us all together, it really touched me and I cry every time I look. My mother was young and beautiful while my father was tall and bold. I realized that moment that went on and that—moment—my mother…

Her last words…"mahal kita"

Then, my nana, my father's mother, she describe the situation as a "death sentence" but doing that for the love of their children was "bravery and courage".

Now, our nana was around her mid-60s when she first met us. Before our parents were separated from us, our father gave Joan the address of where our grandmother lived:

"3101 Terra De Coral St.
Santa Fe, NM | 87507"

That's what was on the paper that Joan had. He described it as home base to our official safety before the officers and officials come to the other side and get us next.

Or, do they?


So that was our mission, to head on over to Santa Fe before we get into any more trouble by any type of officer and Joan was the leader. It was scary for him to be the leader and also make sure that I was okay along the way AND make sure we get to Santa Fe without getting into any trouble. He said that it took us two days to get to Santa Fe without being caught.

He honestly said it wasn't easy; this town was further away from where we started off in the beginning. It was tiring too; we had to sleep in our clothes, in the hot desert, with no food or water to survive.

We managed to use the money our parents provided us to eat at some diner, or ride a bus or other transportation without...stealing or getting into fewer consequences. With our parents' money and Joan's raises from working in labor, we managed to get to nana's house without a problem.

We were tired and weak, but nana did her best to take care of us. Now, nana's real name is Odie Galicia Martinez, but she's not fond her real name so everyone calls her nana.

When she first saw us, she was very happy but then...very confused. She knew something went wrong until Joan told her the news. She was devastated when she found out. She this was bound to happen. She told her father that this was the dumbest plans he had ever thought of and it was too dangerous.

But she always said that my father wasn't the brightest sons she had, but he was surely the kindest and bravest ones she had and was proud to raise to young and very smart children.

Then she told us if they got caught...it would've been the end of them for sure because if they are taken away, they will never see the light of day again...as well as their children.

I knew at that point—my parents—were never coming back.


At a young age, overall, I never thought about my parents being dead; I was in the 7 stages of grief as I began to have in denial. Then as I grew older, I began to lose memory of that moment as in denial was still there.

When I started my teen years, I completely lost thought of my parents being gone forever and assumed that they're just missing and stuck down in Mexico.

Silly, right?

Then my nana and hermano told me everything that had happened as soon as I grew anxious and a bit angry at an older age. Then it started to become more visual and real now as I soon remember what happened and the things my brother or nana told me and I refuse to believe.

I was a baby when this happened. How could I know that this situation had been very clear to me? Now that I remember and realize my parents—they're really dead, once in a while...I cry or mope or scream at myself in sorrow and pain when I talk about them, or think about them or even look at the photographs of my parents.

I would completely blame myself about what happened to my parents and cry to my brother about how sorry I was to let this happen to them. My brother would always come to me and console with a compassionate and very emotional hug.

He would always say to me, "It's not your fault. I used to always blame myself for their death...or sometimes complained how I am not a perfect role model to you as my father once was."

Now I knew why Joan screamed sorry to me when we were alone without our parents for the first time. I am going through the same grief as he did.


It had been 17 in a half years since then...I have changed and I have grown from that sorrow. Now, my final stage of grief...is acceptance.

I have moved on from feeling sorry or feeling angry at myself or my brother or the world because of my family splitting apart, a long time ago. I know now that they are in a better place and that I am being watch by them both and I know that they are proud that they raised and saved the most significant children they have ever created.

And I'm okay with that.

Mahal kita, mama and papa, I am safe now.


TO BE CONTINUED.

NOTE: Okay, this is my first story you guys. I hope you all enjoyed it so far. I am studying on illegal immigration in Mexico and this summarizes what traveling; escaping from the craziness of their society was. It gets worse if they get caught, especially if there's children involved.

Well, that's that. I hope you all like this story, pm me or review if there's any suggestions, I will really appreciate it :) More chapters coming soon! ^^