Thursday, May 5, 2011
She was about 12 years old, they guessed.
They met her, only through glass, in the most unlikely of places. The most undesirable of places.
She had a sign pinned to her red dress. A sign that said only "146". She was with other girls , some older, some younger. A guess...11-13 years old. They were blankly watching the television of cartoons in front of them. All with a number attached to their dresses.
She was the only one with fight left in her eyes. With a determination. With spunk. And a will to survive. The others had gazes that were more zombie like. The fight, determination and will had left. There was no room for it anymore. A complete faze out was the only way to survive for them. But not her. She looked straight through the glass. Straight at them.
They were investigating. Because they were undercover they were unable to reveal how grotesque and horrible this process was to them. Unable to reveal the plan they had of fighting child exploitation with all that was in them. Absolutely unable to proclaim the injustice of it all, or their mission would be ruined.
They were to pick a girl by her identification to have for the next hour. No name. Only a number. Like she was an item on a menu. They, of course, did not. They collected the evidence they needed and left.
When they returned for the raid, #146 was gone.
But she was not forgotten.
This is the story of Love146. This is why we tread on trafficking. Because this must stop.
It must stop.