The streets flashed by. Shifty figures stood on the doorsteps of locked up shops, the butts of their cigarettes glowing red in the darkness.
The bus was silent apart from the occasional snort or cough. Larrana's head had fallen to rest on the top of Maria's, who had buried her face between her older sister's back and the seat. They were both exhausted after a long, hot day of biking, but I felt responsible for us making it off the bus at the right stop. Besides, excitement bubbled in my stomach. Larrana and I had big plans. Once we saved up enough money, we would get a cheap, one-room apartment in New York. She would work at a cafe and paint in her free time while I covered news stories from around the city. María would go to the cute elementary school down the street and bring home art.
I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep until someone crackled "CIUDAD VICTORIA" on the intercom.
YOU ARE READING
Home of the Brave
Short StoryImmigrants are often viewed as waves of unwanted citizens. You don't see their faces or hear their stories. Read from the journal entries of Clara, a sixteen-year-old crossing Mexico at an attempt to cross the U.S. border with her friend Larrana and...
