I was born  in a small town in Texas to parents who migrated to the States illegally searching for a better life or one that allowed progression. My childhood was good but a string of bad decisions would result in me being a trouble with the justice system. No fault of my parents it’s just what I chose. Eventually I settled down with the love of life and became a father and later on a husband. Learning to be be both was a challenge in itself. As a motorcycle enthusiast I linked up with a bunch old friends that were on the same path as myself as a youngster but eventually straighten out. My son and I rode the majority of the time up and down I-35 all through Texas and Oklahoma. Just enjoying the ride.

I was a welder by trade but a biker at heart. I taught my son everything I knew about welding and riding. Life couldn’t have been better for this old hoodlum.

Certain events changed our life’s forever.

Now I find myself here in this land looking to survive.

I haven’t heard from my family back home. After the incident I realized what happen and fled the country. My clothes still covered with dry blood and the smell of rotting flesh.

The memories of my past life are starting to flee. My wife’s perfume is no longer a scent I remember. My sons smile is a mere far off memory.

But here I am in this country looking for I don’t know what. I fled to be free? Is it really freedom if I am deprived from being with my loved ones.