We were driving through the city, and the last time I glanced out the window, I noticed that the windows were tinted. No one could see inside, but we could see everything outside. The atmosphere inside the car was chaotic—Mom, Dad, and the radio all contributed to the overwhelming noise. My vision was fuzzy as they began arguing again. Dad was trying to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel while Mom held what looked like a large bottle of apple juice in her right hand and used her left to strike him. He kept his eyes on the road, but his right hand was trying to fend her off.

"Dad: STOP IT, YOU DAMN WOMAN! WE'RE NOT KEEPING HIM!"

Mom: HE DIDN'T MEAN TO WEAR IT! HE DOESN'T KNOW ANY BETTER!"

Dad: He's no son of mine. It's your fault for raising such a girly boy."

Mom: MY FAULT? YOU WERE OUT OF TOWN! I HAD TO WATCH HIM WHILE YOU WERE OVERSEAS DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT!"

Dad then stopped the car, looked at the drunk woman, and said,

"If you wish to stay with me, get rid of this trash and keep the other batch. If not, I'll kill both of you."

I panicked and quickly got up, trying to defend my mother, saying it wasn't her fault. But before I could reach the seat, my mother hit me with the bottle. When I woke up, everything was dry—uncomfortably dry, like Play-Doh. It was hot, unbearably hot as if I had been plunged into scalding water. I opened my eyes and saw sand—sand everywhere, along with something that looked like a cactus. I quickly gathered my thoughts and stood up, almost falling due to a slight concussion. I saw my mom walking toward the black truck and screamed,

"MOM! WAIT FOR ME!"

She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around, her eyes looking more lifeless than usual. She said to me, "I'm sorry, honey. You can't come with us right now, but we will be back for you

.Just sit in the sand, be a good boy, and we will come back and spend time together like we used to."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was too much for a six-year-old to comprehend. However, I wanted to make my mom happy, so I obeyed without saying anything and sat down in the sand. No food, no water, no toys, no friends, no mom, no dad.

After Mom got in the truck and drove off with Dad, I laid down in the sand, trying to get comfortable. I waited for 10 minutes—still no sign of them. I waited 20 minutes—still no sign. I waited 2 hours, but they didn't come back. As time went on, it became night. I wasn't scared of the dark, but I was scared of what was in it. I got up and started walking in the direction the car had driven. I walked for 20 minutes, then another 20, then for 40. I walked until my little legs couldn't take it anymore, then fell to the ground. I hadn't had food since I had been there, even before they brought me. That night, I didn't want to accept the fact that they weren't coming back, but my mind was telling me I had no choice but to give up. They left me alone in the cold of night in the desert. I closed my eyes, waiting for the darkness to consume me