The Sweat of my Brow by Don Louiz Ruiz

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The smoke loomed above the hills of Durango. Mother ran as fast as she could with Blas holding her hand. Her legs carried her faster than that of any of the steeds in Villa’s army. There was no way her 10 year old son was getting drafted. There was no way he would end up in a shallow grave like his father.

The bullets buzzed by like mosquitoes as she ran for the road. “Lord she Cried out, Save my son!” An old work truck bounced and jerked down the old dirt road. Lorena had no idea that this was God answering her call. With all of her strength she pushed blas’ skinny little body into the slow moving truck. Just as her own feet left the ground her body jolted forward as a bullet pierced her back. Mom laid on the road smiling as Blas moved safely down the old unpaved camino headed north.

Thank you Jesus she said as she took her last breath.

Villa and his men exchanged gun shots in the small town with Carranza and his army. Blas’ eyes filled with tears as la revoluccion took the life of his last existing parent.

The old truck filled with hay and the little boy in the back of it was not a concern for either one of the two armies. The adelitas and los soldados fought side by side. Any casualties died for the cause of a free republic known as los Estados Unidos de Mexico.

Mom’s body became a dot on the horizon and later disappeared as the truck moved on. The farmer the entire time was flooring the accelerator and clasped his rosary as the sweat dropped down his face. Some how some way he was going to make it over the horizon. Something or someone was protecting him He did not know if he found protection in the loving arms of the blessed Virgin of Guadalupe, or if God himself was watching over him, but somehow that old beat up truck was going make it out of line of sight of any of the two armies.

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