He was just waking up; sleep clouded his eyes. Suddenly, he saw the image of his parents (they woke him up every morning) and he smiled, however, their response to his smile were hard flat faces. His smile scurried off his face and he was prepared for some harsh words spoke with loving voices. “How, Margret…we just can’t…” His father muttered staring into the boy’s deep innocent eyes.
“It has to come…” his mother said. From experience the boy knew that her logic was for the best but required serious effort. “But…I don’t kno…” and his mother collapsed into a heap of tears. Snobs and bawls and cries and tears and distorted words were uttered from her mouth. Trying to keep himself together the boy’s father hugged his wife and pushed both their sentiments away.
“Son, this is going to be hard on you but it needs to come straight out. Ugh! Why? Gosh it’s just that Venezuela is just…I don’t know. We have decided that its time to… Well we really don’t think that Venezuela is going to…Ahhhhgggg!!! Here doesn’t really create the childhood that we wanted you to have so we might have to find somewhere else so… we are leaving Venezuela. There. I’m sorry.”