No Other Choice

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Okay, so, today in Social Studies, my teacher gave us all this picture:

And he told us to write a journal entry from one person's point of view

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And he told us to write a journal entry from one person's point of view. So a bunch of people, including me, chose Natives. I chose the one in the canoe in the river. So most people's journal entries were just things like, "I think the Indians are curious," and stuff like that. Anyway, I felt kind of poetic, so this is what I wrote:

The white men have arrived. They have taken the land that was once ours. If we fight, we die. If we stand up for our right as human beings, we die. And so I sit in my canoe and drift across still waters, peaceful, because there is no other choice. The sounds of industry echo through the vicinity, yet I close my ears to all but the birds chirping in the trees, of the wind gently rustling the leaves. I close my ears to the sound of impending danger, close my mind to the thought of being taken, imprisoned, trapped. I close my heart to the rushing anguish flooding though my veins, knowing that one day, maybe, soon, my family may be separated from me by the one wall that can never be penetrated... And so I sit in my canoe and drift across the still waters, peaceful, because there is no other choice.

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