Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27629228-20160131042534

"xen·o·pho·bi·a

ˌzenəˈfōbēə,ˌzēnəˈfōbēə/

noun

intense or irrational dislike or fear of people from other countries."

    I never knew much about other countries. My family never had enough money to travel anywhere. All I knew was there were seven other continents, each with many countries and even more states/provinces. The one I always wanted to go to was North America. I was fascinated by the United States. Everyone I knew said the United States was a free country. There was no freedom of religion or speech here. My parents dreamed of moving there, and so did I. Sadly, my parents couldn't afford any way of transportation to any other countries, let alone a passport. Then my Dad got a promotion.

    Dad worked at a power plant, supplying energy to the entire city. He wasn't that much of a hard worker, but he certainly got the job done. This got him promoted to manager, well that and the fact that the old manager and Dad joined at the same time so they've known each other and worked together for a long time. Dad's promotion gave our family more options. We could dress nice, eat different foods, and even vacation across the country. That's what we did in the Winter of 2001. I was 15 at the time, and I honestly could not wait to get there. We boarded the boat and eventually we landed in a port in Florida. I all but ran out to the port. Leaving my parents behind. Waiting to see what they call “A free country.”

    What I got instead, shocked my more. I was shunned. I was yelled at. I was even attacked.

    “Look out!” one yelled, “It’s a terrorist!”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “Probably helped in 9/11!” another yelled.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “Get out of this country you filthy Arab!” yet another yelled. A crowd was forming around me and they continued to yell.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">     9/11? What’s that? What’s a terrorist? What’s wrong with being an Arab? I tried to think about what the answer was.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “What are you talking about?” I asked, confused, scared, shocked. My parents came running to my side.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “Look! There’s more of them!” Others yelled. They spat at me and my family. Some picked up pebbles and threw them at us. I looked at other people leaving the boat. All where Arab’s. All experiencing the same torture. We ran back onto the boat, along with all the other people.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “GET US OUT OF HERE!” we all yelled. The captain agreed and sailed off.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">        “What kind of a country is this? This is not free.” I said, tears streaming down my face. I was unsure. I knew though, what I wanted to do. I wanted to get revenge. I looked and looked for years and years for some way to get them back.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">     Then, a couple years after 2001, the Americans came here. They were shooting people who had weapons, asking for names I did not know. My Dad went out to defend us and failed. He was shot and I saw it happen. My Mom was scared and tried to reason with them. She got shot too when she tried to shoot one of the Americans. I lost my family that day, and I swore I’d get them back. I swore that as long as I live I will make America pay. Then <span style="font-size:13.333333333333332px;font-family:Arial;color:#d4d4d5;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi came to town. recruiting people for a group called ISIS. I asked if America would ever be a target.

<span style="font-size:13.3333px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-weight:400;white-space:pre-wrap;">    “Maybe.” was all I got as a response. I decided to join. I trained and killed and finally my moment came. A man named James Foley, a journalist, came here. I persuaded my friend to kill him while I stood on lookout with a camera. Sent the footage straight to Obama. One down, 318.9 million to go. <ac_metadata title="Xenophobia (UNREVIEWED)"> </ac_metadata>