The thing about being a kid is that you're either scared to death, or extremely happy. Emotions haven't crossed your brain as an adolescent. It's just going with whatever you're told to do.
At this moment in time, I was terrified. I was held in the arms of my mother who was chewing on some gum. (I had asked for some a countless amount of times, but she refused, saying it was bad for my teeth.) The people around me had a distinct smell. My grandmother told me not to say that they stink, because that was outrageously rude. The reason I was scared was not because of these distinctly smelling people, it was because I was told to be.
My older brother Lucas had dirt smeared across his left cheek. He had fallen while running towards the train we were riding right now. Lucas just turned seventeen about two weeks ago, and my sister, Natalia, who we call Nati, turned fourteen. It was always really cool to me that they shared the same birthday. They complained, though. It was mostly because they got a shared present, which always ended with it getting taken away from them for fighting over it.
I was the youngest, having turned eight exactly three months and twelve days ago. I was really proud and frequently complemented of my amazing memory. Once, I told my friend best friend that I remember drinking my first bottle of milk. It was a lie, which I soon after felt really bad about doing.
Where I used to live was barley a house. I don't think I can even call it a shed. Held up by straw, roofed by a plastic cover, infested with bugs and snakes. We lived in such poverty, my mom couldn't even afford a hospital to give birth. No one in my family had a birth certificate. In a weird kind of way, I, Luciana Patricia Roscas, did not even exist.
All of my thoughts seemed to disappear when the train began to stop, jolting everyone who was sitting on the dirty floorboards back. Soon after, my mother looked at me and my siblings with worry in her eyes. She had beautiful eyes. The were a milky brown which were always framed by the loose hairs that fell from her forehead. My brother took me by the arm and ordered me to hide in the big crate that had 'SNAKES' written on all sides. I got even more frightened, begging him not to put me in there. It wasn't until he explained that it was empty that I crawled inside, not making a sound. As I was told to do.
I noticed through the crevice of the crate that everyone hid, stashing away all the food and alcohol other people had brought on the train.
There was a loud noise that brought a bright light. I squinted, as I had not seen daylight in almost four days. In the shadows stood a tall man in a circular hat. I could see the gun in the right pocket of his pants. I assumed he was a police.
As he got further down the train, he pulled out a flash light. I nervously pulled back little, praying he wouldn't see me. But when I moved, the crate I was cramped in squeaked. The man instantly directed his flashlight towards the crate, walking towards me slowly. All I wanted now was my mom to cry on. My breathing got quicker. I started shaking. I was about to break when I saw my mom jump out of her hiding spot, making the police look at her instead of me.
"Corre!" She yelled in Spanish. My mom couldn't speak English. But neither could anyone on this train. I did as she said and sprinted out of the box and ran. I turned back and saw the police grabbing my mother. She was trying to fight him, but he was noticeably stronger than her. Her past words rang through my head. Corre! I ran out of the train, doing the best I could in my flimsy flip flops. After I was sure I would pass out of tiredness, I stopped, looking behind me.
"Lucas?" I exclaimed loudly. "Nati?"
I was alone.
