Mexican Hell

I have a story for you. I was talking to a friend, she’s a teacher at Desert View, the same school I went to, and so did she and her sister. She’s a teacher there and some of her students went to Mexico over Rodeo Break.
They got drunk and stayed the night. By the end of the night one of their friends was missing. They couldn’t find her. They figured that she must have gotten lucky with a guy.
The next day back on their way to the border, they see her. She’s sandwiched between two guys in an SUV. She has a hat low on her head. When they get to the border they tell the border agent that their friend was separated from them and is with some guys that they don’t know and to make sure that she’s OK.
She wasn’t OK.
She wasn’t even alive.
Sometime over the night, she was murdered, gutted and then sewed up and filled with cocaine. She became luggage for some drug cartel.
There are times when the notion of humanity begins to escape us mere human beings. I was talking about this and I’d hoped the girl was dead already when they gutted her. Last night my mind was already racing about what had happened to her. Almost every possible possibility that had happened to his girl. It kept me up.
Then the other thing happened: I thought about her parents. Her poor parents. Something no one would every want to let anyone else’s child. That person who they held a infant. Loved for years. Watched grow up. Only to end up as luggage.
But if they hadn’t been caught, she would have been disposed of in some ditch or another place. Her parents would have never have known what had happened. Was she alive or dead.
I still can’t believe what happened to her. It’s troublesome.

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