He was a small child at the age of four, with his almost bleached Blonde hair. Riding in the front of the small cab of the old pickup truck. His mind innocently wonders where they are going. It’s been a long cold drive, his mother holds him in her arms
As he rests on her chest on the long dark gloomy road to nowhere. His big Blue eyes take in The darkness. Although the darkness didn’t hide the odors of a fresh new morning, the thickness of a new day, a new start, even as a small child he loved new mornings, the smells, the feelings that where of something fresh. The darkness was of no indication of the darknes ahead. He was there with his mother, his small sister sleeping with her head on his thigh, pure innocence. The man driving was a unknow, a man you could tell was worn with sleeplessness, his hands could compare to that of an iron workers leathered paws. The smell of morning often interrupted by the odors of camels being inhaled, windows partly down letting the fumes escape and be engulfed by the morning air, and the smell still left behind fighting to escape but the smell imprinted into the airways. The smell of those cigarettes bring somewhat a little piece of comfort to him, because with that scent came someone who was there to care for you, bittersweet. What lies ahead, the unknown, a life nobody should live through, a life that if most experienced it, failure would be their only option.