The Pro-Life Nazi March :: Personal Narrative Writing

The Pro-Life Nazi buntThe picture of a bloody fetus torn apart by a surgeons scalpel danced overhead in the cloudy sky. I stared at the swaying bank note and at the tiny body lying in a ballpark garbage bag. Around it, hundreds of similar signs filled the sky with bright haggle and colors as a huge mass of men, women and children paraded under them in a huge march. I stared at the marchers, disbelieving of the sight in front of me. They were the Pro-Lifers, marching in favor of banning abortion as a choice and a right for women. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked up toward the White House and then back in the other direction. Both my cousin and I hadnt expected to see anything besides the usual Washington museum exhibits and eateries that day instead we got caught up in a march that neither of us believed in and matchless that I wouldnt make water chosen to see. The march seemed to have no beginning and no repeal it seemed as though it went on for miles. I looked at the mas s of plurality in awe, amazed that so many people could organize to trash for something they believed in. Id never seen something of this scale and I was stunned by its mass and power. As we got closer to the marchers, my excitement, and my disgust, grew. The march seemed never-ending people were filing up dad Avenue, shouting slogans and waving their posters in the air. They marched together in unity, spilling over onto the sidewalks and inundate the street. The Pro-Lifers marched side by side, at least fifteen people across, wrinkle after line. I began to look closer at the faces of the protesters, looking at the marchers so I could see and remember those who were so violently strange to a womans right to choose. Women were marching, denying their rights, and among the huge crowd were children. I saw one child sitting on his fathers shoulders, waving a sign with pictures of stillborn babies as other children marched in the street, singing anti-abortion slogans. I couldnt be lieve it. Children exactly old enough to read the signs they were carrying or understand the slogans they sang marched on with their parents, brainwashed into denying women their right to chose. I continued to watch the posters and cardboard signs as they went by.