I remember when I had my first heartbreak. We lived four hours away from each other. I was a city girl, he was a country boy. We met when we were six, and we were at school. He had always been my best friend until the day he unexpectedly kissed me on my lips. I remember his lips were wet and tasted like sea salt because we were floating together in the ocean that day. And that was all it took for my heart to melt sweetly for him. It was like eating cotton candy for the first time. But like every other teen love story, our perfect fantasy ended quickly after seven weeks. My heartfelt compressed for months; little did I know the pain in my heart would worsen in such a drastic way.

The sun is wearing my body the more steps I take. I am losing all hope and desire to keep going. I haven't even had fresh water in four days. My legs feel like they are heavy pound rocks; they are weighing me down more than ever. My neck feels swollen and my back is aching from carrying the three backpacks my sweet mother sent me with extra canned food and clothes. I try to keep a positive image in mind, but I am starting to regret this journey.

As soon as we left home, we rode in the trunk of a transporting fruit truck. We hid under blankets in the back. The truck transported fruits from northern Mexican cities to Dallas, Texas in the U.S. The truck had several stops, and the fruit was kept in the freezer built trunk so that they remained fresh and edible throughout the journey. My youngest brother and I froze the two nights we were squirmed in there. The ice would often melt on top of our blankets that we hid under.

All was going according to plan until my brother, Andres, started coughing. The driver was forced to kick us out on the estranged desert and just like that, we were alone. Andres tried convincing me he knew where to go, and eventually, I just let myself believe him. That was four days ago.

The sun is setting and I think about our garden back home, the tamales and jamaica juice I have been craving these past few days, and of course; mama y papa. As Andres and I set our things down and huddle together to keep warm, we hear a grand rustling of the sand and cacti against a moving vehicle. The lights blind both of us and in the blink of an eye, six large men with pistols are surrounding us.

In only a few minutes, my brother and I were being torn away from each other in the most violent way. As the men packed me away into their truck, and one of them holds me tightly on his lap while thrusting his groin towards me. I hear my younger brother screaming from the pain they are inflicting upon him. I start praying - praying to God for Him to save us both and for us to be safe and at home. But in the middle of my prayer, I hear the pistol fire.