I’d heard people mention God a thousand times. Hungry, on a dirty island, I gasped for air. My family and I drifted on the first vessel to Mexico. Death flashed before my eyes over and over again. I had to get to the States. I would do anything. My heaven was freedom from hunger, freedom from dictatorship. Standing on a ledge looking down, while crossing an abandoned bridge, it was like death was speaking to me. I’d become desperate. Hearing my family call for me to provide everyday had driven me mad. We were all dirty, poor and hungry. Rushing to get through the border fence I felt the sun burning on the barbed metal wires. We got stuck only to die trying to get in illegally. No one knew us, and no one ever heard our story. They were already citizens of the promised land. We didn’t make it out of the 3rd world.
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