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Rated: E · Short Story · Cultural · #1148392
Tells of Esperanza who finds love but hates it.
Listen to my story:

I am Esperanza Fernadid Natchez and I have found exactly what I was looking for for all this time. I am from the countryside originally, but cannot recite the pallid memories of a house with an address. It is also hard for me to see how you are reaching fo rthese men like you do because it was the hands of the men that took me away and changed my voice forever.

The day was bright when I opened my eyes. So bright that it felt like the sun was sitting on my rooftop. This was the day that I noticed some bleeding and some scars in my abdo-men and from my treasures. I can still see myself falling flat onto the ground and curling up instantly. My English has gotten much better since I left that place of hurt and scariness and black marks on my body. I am in Los Nueva York now and I work at the deli in the barrio of Senor Ra-mon. But that day plays back in my mind so much that I of-ten fall like that day too.

"It ain't mine. You just a piece of no good rubbish. Your own threwed you way and now I got you and you ain't gone be heading no wheres, missy. I's gone gut that baby right on out of you right here and now. Git over here," said Cowboy Jonny.

He was the man had grabbed me from them trees I was hiding underto keep the sun of my back after I came here to work. He had told me that I ain't have to worry no more. He said he was gone look after me and not knowing no Ingles. I just smiled and waved like my brothers told me to do before I left home.

"No, misser. No Senor Jonny."

Esperanza bowed low and grabbed her abdomen as she felt Cowboy Jonny slice through her intestines and spill her gutturals right there on that hot sand. 19 years later she could still feel the warmness ofthe blood and the lightness of her head. Esperanza collapsed telling the story.

Tears crusted in the eyes of Sulimon Natchez as he brought a cold compress to his mother's forehead wiping her orgas-mic sweat away from her brow.

His brow was forrowed at the mention of his mother's ordeal and he was the product of the terror done towards his moth-er. Sulimon was now 17 years old and shared his loft apart-ment with his mother so that she could be safe. Her flash-backs most worried him. She could have them anywhere at any time. So he called her to live with him.

"Thank you, hijo," said a reviving Esperanza. "I thank Dios my God for you every day. You are my immaculata hijo."
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