American Slave

 My mother then turned to him and cried, "Oh, master, do not take me from my child!" Without making any reply, he gave her two or three heavy blows on the shoulders with his raw-hide, snatched me from her arms, handed me to my master, and seizing her by one arm, dragged her back towards the place of sale. My master then quickened the pace of his horse; and as we advanced, the cries of my poor parent became more and more indistinct - at length they died away in the distance, and I never again heard the voice of my poor mother. Young as I was, the horrors of that day sank deeply into my heart, and even at this time, though half a century has elapsed, the terrors of the scene return with painful vividness upon my memory. Frightened at the sight of the cruelties inflicted upon my poor mother, I forgot my own sorrows at parting from her and clung to my new master, as an angel and a saviour, when compared with the hardened fiend into whose power she had fallen. She had been a kind and good mother to me; had warmed me in her bosom in the cold nights of winter; and had often divided the scanty pittance of food allowed her by her mistress, between my brothers, and sisters, and me, and gone supperless to bed herself. 

This heart wrenching tale evokes such emotion and poses such a powerful question to bigotry.  It is entirely unusual, not the experience, but the fact that it was recorded. This young slave learned to read and write and was able to record his experience.  He wasn't out to change the world, all he did was record his seemingly insignificant life.  Little did he know that his life and his words would ring so significantly in the ears of those who read his account.  It reminds us that we all share a bond of human nature.  It calls the reader to take a look at their life and their family and to take a step in someone else's life.