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As my family and I stand on one side, little children and other families on the other. The heat was beating down, sweat dripping down my body. I look at my three siblings watching vigorously as we are forced to look at the other kids' play. Clean water, nice food, expensive clothing, they got everything they ever wanted. We didn’t. We were watching, on the outside of this rusty barbed-wire fence. We heard racial slurs and other sayings no child our age should hear. We waited to get on the bus, but we weren’t going to school. We were going to a  place nobody wanted to go to. The house on 43rd street.

The old man had purchased the bus and had paid off the legislatures in the area, this was a death bus. The doors were locked as were the windows. Our lives were over. As we arrived at the house the man got on the bus with a gun in hand. I protected my siblings but it wasn't enough. The shots rang out and I felt the bullets slide through my skin, the heat burning my insides. As it made its way through, I felt the life drain out of me, my soul pouring out. With my last sight, I watched as the bullets hit my brother, piercing his skin. We lay there knowing this was it. With my last breath, I told my siblings, “I love you.” That was the day I gave up virtual reality.

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