In the year of 2025, the situation on the border became unbearable. The illegals
crossed the Rio Grande by thousands. They came by whole families: men, women,
little children. They forded the river, crossed it on ramshackle rafts, walked through the
wilderness. Bitten by bloodthirsty coyotes and whitened by the merciless desert sun,
the skulls of their unlucky comrades were their only landmarks. The illegals looked at
the bones, but courageously continued their way. These people were leaving their
once great, and now humiliated country. They were leaving their motherland, their
memories, and their whole lives behind. The people headed to a place where they
would always be treated like dirt by puffed-up, pig-brained rich bastards. Everybody
knew it, but, nevertheless, continued their journey. After the recently-finished civil war,
working for a rich neighbor had become the only source of income. The illegals
marched one by one, tiredly staggering, and looking at a wall. Its construction would
be finished soon, and it would close the border. The Mexican government finally got
something right. Who knows, maybe then, it would be possible to keep Americans
away?