Empty Eyes: The Story About Sex Trafficking And Illegal Immigration

Heart dashing, throat gagging, I sit secure in the secondary lounge of the vehicle - pausing! A lost canine sniffs at a cheap food sack searching for a piece to eat breaking the frightfully quiet evening. The gleam from a close-by parking area light sheds a hazy orange fog over the abandoned road.

Surprised by the secondary passage being yanked open, I witness the little kid being pushed into the rearward sitting arrangement adjacent to me. Without really any expression of affirmation, the driver races off down the warped San Antonio roads winding this way and that toward the highway.

Sliding quietly in behind us, the enormous dark vehicle sneaks like a jaguar looking for its prey. Its detestable, threatening eyes radiate through the back vehicle window planning to grab us up all of a sudden.

Outright trepidation washes over me unexpectedly raising the hairs on my lower arms. I inhale profound inclination the perspiration stream down my back but I shudder with a chill as though somebody is strolling over my grave.

I look at the honest-looking young lady whose face reveals none of her injury of being the object of sex dealing. Scared, she looks directly ahead with those vacant dead eyes.

I need just to be back home, sitting on my entryway patio with my four closest companions adoring our grandkids. All things being equal, I look over the driver's shoulder at the speedometer at 75 miles each hour, then 80, then, at that point, 85 and presently moving toward 90, attempting to escape from the steady detestable pursuing us.

Feeling the vehicle delayed as we move toward the drive prompting our home, I hear the crunching of the rock behind us and I realize the puma is hunched, prepared to assault… ….