Personal Narrative Essay: The Land Of The Free

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I was once called the Land of the Free. A country where everyone was created equal. My children had fought vigorously for me, and I returned them all that they desired. I offered them crops, lakes, and trees. They accepted my materials and made me the Home of the Brave. I stood proud, loving each and all my kids.

Suddenly there was disagreement and conflict, for some of my children were being treated unfairly. They were forced into labor, chained to their commanders. Their freedom became unknown, and their voices became unheard.

But some of my kin acknowledged the violation of human rights. And just how they fought for me, they fought for them. They sought out that their rights were restored. Because after all, I was the Land of the Free.
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Sides were taken, plans were established and battles were drawing near.

I attempted to reason with my children, not to turn against their own family, but my voice was forgotten. It was as if all they had once stood and fought for had disappeared in the night.

Tears spilled down my face as the war appeared to never cease. I howled and my sobs became creeks in the land.

And thus the dreaded day came. The date I feared since the war had commenced. It was September 17, 1862. Antietam Creek. The two sides lined up across my tears. And they fired.

Bodies fell on my breast: their limbs torn, ripped asunder. I held them close to my heart, our heartbeats sinking into unisense. I screamed, wishing that my voice could be heard. But my voice was unknown, like the morals my children previously had. That intense September day was the bloodiest day of the war, and the hardest day of my

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