Texas looked up at his father, Mexico, as the barrel end of the shot gun was pointed right between his two emerald green eyes as they widened in fear, but Mexico didn't shoot he stood there as the rain fell washing away some of the mud and blood on Texas clothes, but stains stayed. "Hijo...." Mexico said panting as he was exhausted from the battle, the battle for the Alamo. "Vamos hijo, vamos a casa y mantente alejado de América." Mexico moved the shotgun from his sons face. Texas tried to kick out from under his feet, but sadly failed as his father lifted him up in the air grabbing onto his collar, the soaked dirtied cloth stretched making a small shift in the fabric as he looked at his father trying to get out of his grip sadly failing, the next thing that happened came out of pure anger from Mexico, he gripped his pocket knife in his other hand swiftly bringing the knife down, right over Texas right eye. Blood started gushing out of the wound sliding down Texas cheek, across his jaw line, and it started running down his neck and going down his shirt, Mexico then realized what he did but Texas escaped from his grip before he did. Mexico was frozen as Texas ran, Texas ran and ran and didn't stop until, he tripped. Texas didn't move his vision was blurred and he was exhausted. He felt himself being picked up he didn't know by who but he didn't fight instead he let the exhaustion take over, and he fell into a pool of dark warmth.

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Hijo : son
Vamos Hijo, Vamos a casa y mantente Alejando de América : come on son let's go home and stay away from America