Crawler

01

-- edited 2026 --

One hand sheltered my eyes from the blazing sun that beat down on me while the other grasped a heat sealed bag. It currently held all of my worldly possessions and I gripped it tightly as I was jostled forward one step at a time. Finally, the guards fell back and I waited patiently as the gate slowly opened enough to let me pass, its incessant buzzing declaring my release to everyone within a block radius.

As I stepped over the threshold a smile finally found its way to my face but I was pulled from my impending freedom by a gruff voice. "You better not be back, Vargas," an armed guard said from just inside the gate.

"No promises," I said over my shoulder with a wave before I started strolling down the East L.A. streets. I cast one brief final look back at the high walls of the California Institute for Women, my home for the last 6 years. I almost felt sad. It was all I knew now. Outside of those walls I was nobody, but in there I was known and respected.

I idly scratched my irritated wrist, where my cellmate had given me a goodbye tattoo to remember my stay by, and reached a crossroads. I could almost scoff at the symbolism of it all but the amusement was lost as I took a seat on the curb and tore through the bag to check on my meager belongings.

I checked my wallet still had a small amount of cash in it and slipped it into my worn skinny jeans that had me sweating already. The 90 degree heat was an absolute killer but at least I was still able to fit the clothes I was arrested in, god knows it would have been worse to leave in someone's soiled lost and found rags. Next, I tried to turn on my outdated Nokia phone and sighed, obviously 6 years was too long to hold its charge. Not that it mattered, since I had no one to call, or anyone who would even answer. I shoved the last item, a pocket knife, in my pocket too and tossed the empty bag to the street.

For the first time, I really was on my own. It was a sobering thought and one I couldn't spend too long thinking of, so I pushed up off the curb and turned left. Right was never my thing.

Two blocks from the prison, I was over walking in the heat. An old rusted pickup was parked outside a sandwich shop and I tested the handle with a smile as it opened. I would hardly call it stealing when it's unlocked so I climbed in the drivers side and ducked my head under the steering wheel.

Muscle memory had me pulling the plastic cover off the steering column without a thought and I quickly cut and striped the ignition and battery wire with my pocket knife before twisting them together. Next, I stripped the starter wire and sparked it against the battery wires and heard the truck roar to life.

I raced to put the old girl into gear and dropped the clutch, speeding out of the car park and heading south. The high of adrenaline left me smiling but I soon hit the steering wheel roughly when I found air conditioning to be non-existent and the fan didn't work either. Resorting to the 90's, I cranked the window down by hand and let the breeze blow my dark hair wildly around my head. This was freedom.

Somewhere on the outskirts of San Diego I noticed the fuel light come on and pulled in behind some dilapidated shops before it ran completely dry. Rifling around the glove box came up with a small triumph as I found a pack of menthols and a lighter. I lit one for myself, inhaling the minty smoke before I torched the truck. The flames would remove any trace linked to me since I did not need to get picked up on automotive theft after just getting out.

Grateful for the afternoon shadows that kept me cool, I walked the streets with my thumb out and hoped some other poor bastard was going to be heading towards the border like me. I was beginning to lose hope for the night when a low rider pulled up with cholo music playing loudly and I sighed to myself before putting a fake smile on my face.