An Immigrant: A Short Story

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On May 6th, 2004 I moved here with my family of three.My Mother, sister and myself. My mom always drilled it into our heads that she moved us to America for a “better education” but at the age of seven, I thought I was pretty clever. I knew that the main reason my mother moved us was for our safety. I was born in the war-torn country of Sudan. Where people of the same ethnic backgrounds try to kill each other. A place where racism was always lurking in every corner no matter where you happened to be. It didn't matter where you called home. If you lived in Sudan your were in a war zone, so whenever I hear about ISIS my mind always jumps back to my time spent in Sudan. No, I didn't witness acts of terrorism but I knew that something was wrong.

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