Agitation, asphyxia, and nausea were the ultimate tokens before the exigent oxygen ensued into smoke. He could not feel the fierce, itching pain on his blistering skin, as his lungs overflowed with smoke.
Down on the floor, Myrna spotted a green, stick insect crawling near her face. She envied the insect as she wished to camouflage in between the concrete ground that knocked her head. She wanted to be an immobile insect on the ground to discourage her predators from caging her life.
After four long years of abject distress, Alba learned how to live in hiding. She misled her family into believing that she had understood the seriousness of her past. Over time, her theatrical performance turned into a nightmare as the memories of her sins transmuted into physical desires.
In the Northwestern part of the Sonoran Desert, almost reaching the Southwest side of the border between Mexico and the United States, there was Jose. Laid down on the dirt. Barely alive, lightheaded from dehydration. Still, capable of distinguishing the standing tall American flag, flying over the land of the free.
Honey Tits was obsessed with freedom. She lived most of her life in a small Midwestern town, where her freedom was persistently oppressed. Raised in a Mormon household, she felt caged by the absurdity of the moral values that her closed minded family imposed to her.
Her maternal instinct was the source for her name. Immortalized in myths, always caring for the vulnerable, always battling against injustice. Beautiful and heroic for some, prohibited and immoral for others.
Ava grew up in an environment of paranoia. She was born in the mist of the Romanian revolution and even though she had lived in the United States for over fifteen years, her parents who had miraculously survived the war, raised her to fear and distrust humankind.