Realizing The American Dream


“Get in there!” yelled one of the guards.
The guard threw me into the house; I was shaking, and I could taste blood in my mouth from the beating I received a few minutes ago. I was cooped up in this eerie, decrepit house as a prisoner. My stomach growled from the lack of food. After he threw me to the ground and shut the door, I had to appraise my situation and went looking for food. There was nothing but a stove and a sink with some cabinets. I went to the cabinet to see if there was anything in there I could eat or cook. Unfortunately, only a water bottle, a can of beans, and a pan stared back at me. I grabbed the pan and the beans reluctantly. But I thought to myself, knowing the guards and Cambodia’s leader Pol Pot, I was going to be stuck here for a long time. I would have to gather all that I could scavenge. When I went to heat the beans on the stove, flames came rushing out. I was in shock! I got the pan from the cabinet, put it on the stove and poured only a little of the beans so as not to waste all of them. After they were done cooking, I went into the living room and sat down to eat the beans. Just then, the guard yelled from outside.

“What’s going on in there? I smell something!” screamed the macho guard.
I tried to act fast and think of something to say.

“Everything is fine!” I yelled back, afraid to agitate him.

“I’m coming in!” said the guard.
When I heard him say that, I froze. He barged in with anger.

“What is this?” the guard berated.
He came up to me with an extremely angry face.

“Explain this to me!” he said.

“I got hungry, so I cooked up some beans that were in the kitchen,” I muttered.

“No. Absolutely not!” the guard said with a caustic tone.
Suddenly, the guard was brandishing the pan, tormenting me with it, and then threw it across the room. The beans hit the wall and fell to the floor, leaving the food scattered everywhere.

“Hey what did you do that for?” screamed Doug.

“You’re not allowed to have food; you’re lucky to be alive,” the guard responded.
The Guard went back outside to get back to his job and his cronies. After the door slammed shut, I went to go look at the beans to see if there were still some that I could eat. There was nothing to eat. I was flabbergasted. That was the only resource left to help me survive for the time being. I had had enough of being held prisoner, so when it was time to go to bed; I made up a plan to escape this terrifying nightmare.


My ingenuity kicked in. If I could go up to the roof, sneak to the back of the house, and jump off silently without anyone see me leaving, then I could get through the rice paddy fields and stow away on a cargo ship. It would have to be dark to escape though because if I were to do it in the daylight, guards could spot me easily.

The next day started with the sound of gunfire. It wasn’t a lucky day for one of the farmers. When I went to the window to look outside, the day was soon to be over. How long had I slept? I quickly got myself ready and realized to savor my immanent escape for freedom. When I walk downstairs I saw that the Guard didn’t see the water bottle that was in the kitchen, so I put it in my pocket for the long journey. Waiting for the sun to set seemed to take forever, but soon it was time for the daring escape. I headed to the attic where there was a handle on a small door for the roof.

“Here we go,” I say to myself with vehemence and fright.
As I stepped through the little door, it’s obvious that it was right above the front entrance where the Guard was, so I carefully stepped around the door to get to the back of the house, girding myself. There was a pristine hill at the edge of the house that led down to the paddy fields. I had a feeling an injury was imminent, but I went anyway. I leapt softly onto the hill and rolled down to the fields but twist my leg at the same time.

“On no, this is a problem,” I lamented.
Part of my bone is stuck out of the shin. Stopping was not an option. I took off my shirt and rapped it tight round the leg to stop the bleeding and to hold the bone in place. I decided the best way to get through the fields so I was not conspicuous was to crawl in the tall grass. It would also be detrimental for my leg. I got on my belly and started to army crawl to the other side of the rice paddy field. After about forty-five minutes of crawling, I reached the end of the fields.
I thought to myself, “Getting this far has taken so long, and it’s only the beginning.” I got up and started to limp to the docks where hopefully there would be a cargo ship to stow away on. On my way to the docks, I came across a hill but stumbled trying to cross it. My leg killed me, but it wasn’t going to stop me from getting out of Cambodia. So I strived and finally got up the hill. At the top, I looked behind me and saw the house and all of the camp where my nightmare began. I kept going and never looked back.
The docks were crowded with workers. I noticed an alleyway leading to the entrance, snuck past the workers, and ran quietly into the alley. At the end of the alley, I threw a rock to distract one of the guards who was traipsing along the dock and covering the entrance to the cargo ship.

“Who’s there?” the guard asked.
The guard walked over to where the rock landed. This was the chance, and I had to take it. I carefully and silently ran into the ship’s entrance as fast as possible. Finally inside, there were single beds and old, small, and dirty bathrooms. But it was better than nothing, so I decided to lie down, to take a nap, and to rest the injured leg.

“Hey…Hey wake up,” exclaimed one of the guards.

“What?” I said with a confusing tone.

“You’re not allowed to be here,” said the guard. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Doug, Doug White, sir,” I said exhausted.
The guard didn’t look familiar. On the guard’s arm was a flag that wasn’t Cambodian.

“Okay Doug, Where did you come from?” asked the guard

“From Cambodia,” I said.

“Cambodia?”

“Yes sir, but I am not a martyr.”

“Well, since my family members were killed by Pol Pot, I am considered a subversive, and I will help you get away from Cambodia.”

“Really? That’s great. Thank you so much!” I yelled with gratefulness.

“Ouch! Look at your leg; we need some medical attention for that. Hold on. I will be right back,” exclaimed the guard.
The guard came back quickly.

“Okay, here we go. Thank God I am a surgeon,” said the guard.

“Oh my god! That will be a lot better than someone that knows nothing about putting a bone back in its place.”

“By the way, I never got to know your name.”

“My name is Michael Douglas.”
So Michael gave me a sleeping pill so that he could work on my leg without me feeling it. When the pill wore off, I was lying on a bed with wires stuck to my chest and a needle in my arm. I didn’t know where I was. Then suddenly Michael came in to check on me.

“How are you doing Doug?” Michael asked.

“I feel a lot better,” I exclaimed.

“That’s good.”

“I forgot to ask you. Where am I exactly?” I asked

“You’re in New York City in the United States of America.”

“Really? Is that a good thing?”

“Hahaha! Yes it is. It sure is better than Cambodia,” explained Michael, eloquently.

One month later after coming to America

After coming to America, Michael was very generous and let me stay with him until I could find a job and get my own place. His home was beatific. When Michael would be at work, I would listen to major artists like Led Zeppelin. Also I would watch shows like M*A*S*H, The Brady Bunch, and The Daily News. America truly is all that I dreamed it would be. Now I understand the phrase living the American dream.