Wall

This is a story I wrote in Language arts about Social Justice. I thought that it would fall under the subject of Trump trying to repeal the Asylum Law.

I'm running.
Fleeing my only home.
The night air is hot in my lungs, my eyes burning from all the dust. I looked down at my hands, covered in grime, dirt clotting under my nails. I opened and closed my hands a few times, thinking. I was fleeing because of the inequality I had been facing. I was a black woman. The last on the list. The bottom of the pecking order. I looked up, and saw the high wall towering over me, sharp spires shooting into the sky from its top.
The wall.
Sanding stationary, blocking my only hope of escape.
Never will justice be served.
I'm running.
Fleeing my only home.
The wall.
The terrible thing slamming the door in my face at the thought of freedom. A sob was building up in my throat. I was never getting out. Wrapping me in chains and throwing me in an endless pit of despair. Hunger made me dizzy, thirst making my mouth dry. I walked, slowly, achingly, to the wall. I put a hand on its cool surface, and tears blurred my vision.
Never safe.
Never free.