Personal Narrative: The Evil In America

Evil is all around us.

You lose your sense of time, when the world stops moving. Frozen. Filled to the brim with fear. The feeling of being trapped in an open space. Pushing the walls that surround you to no avail. The moment when a child discovers the evil in our world. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream but my throat was empty. I wanted to shield my eyes from the horror. The desperate yelps of pain. The red of the blood streaming down the walls.

"No more! No more!" I pleaded.

I clutched her body close to mine and prayed to God. I looked up to what was left of the building, the American flag suffocated under the fallen debris. What it represented, stained.

"America… The land of the free and the home of the brave" I recall my Dad saying

I had looked up at the vast skyline, that stretched along the brisk blue sky, with both a sense of wonder and shock. My dad, my mum and I. Ready to start again in this new life. Away from the disaster that had engulfed our homeland. I planted my face up against the window as the taxi travelled along the snaking road, captivated by the various new sights, smells and sounds. We arrived at our small apartment atop a bakery which my father had just purchased. Trees were swaying in the wind in joyful sync. Our first days in our new country were both scary and exciting as I anxiously waited for my first day at school. The tall flagpole that would ring like a chime when the rope slapped it on windy days stood out in my memory. Perched at the top of this flagpole was the American flag. A symbol of hope, freedom and innocence. However today, in the still air, the pole was eerily

Mrs Vardy, our class teacher, had helped throughout the year to improve my English. She reminded me a lot of my grandmother back in Iraq. Nurturing, loving, trusting. She helped me immensely as I struggled to integrate into my new culture. In Iraq, I woke up to fighter planes hovering over my head and women and children walking miles for safety. It was a mystery when the bombs would fall or where. Evil was all around me. The first few days in America was tough. I remember, one night, waking up to the sound of the train rattling along the tracks behind our house. I thought for sure we were under attack as thoughts of my family back home replayed through my mind. Mum raced into my room, awoken by my screams. She comforted me as I slowly drifted back asleep, reassuring me that everything will be