Finish the story begins with: “The house of Don Francisco sat in a remote part of the desert.”
Long abandoned, the house was a stark reminder of what had been.
Don remembered the better days. Once celebrated as a symbol of humanitarianism, his home was a beacon of light to those lost in the cloak of the desert’s night.
But now he understood that what he did was wrong. Harboring immigrants trying to enter the country illegally was risky business. He knew that time, or the law, would catch up to him. And they did.
The ride was bumpy; maybe the van needed an alignment. But a smooth ride was the least of Don’s worries. In fact, this would be his last ride in a long time. He looked up to find the driver glancing at him through the rear view mirror.
The van eased to a slow stop. “Take your last look Don,” the driver said. “This is it.”
Don heaved a heavy sigh and whispered, “Goodbye.”