Semi Shadows
A cacophony of shadows, and all I feel is fear. Shadows of the epilepsy-inducing sort, like when driving through a wooded area and the tall pines are casting shadows that light flickers through at an alarming rate. Piercing one's eyes and assaulting the retinas with one of mother nature's many strobe lights. Or when some bright-eyed little bastard is blessed with the epiphany of how to inflict heart-attacks on everyone in the room and starts rapidly flipping the light switch on and off. Both of those scenarios are indefinitely preferable to the kind of shadows I am dealing with now in the back of this musty semi-trailer. The latch on the door had unfastened from its hold and the door is rolling up a bit and slamming down in response to every pothole we drive over (so many I had lost count). There are also 18 little holes on the sides of the trailer displaying scars of where bullets had raped the metal wall. 7 on my side of the trailer, 11 on theirs. Every time just enough daylight flickers through, their haunted eyes blink back at me blankly. I remember when my mother, in one of her usual paranoia frenzies, informed me that Michigan was ranked #2 in human sex trafficking behind only Nevada. I thought she was crazy at the time, and hadn't really paid much attention.
I believe her now.
Now all of this semi's cargo is believing things they never did before.
I'm brought back to reality as my wrists and ankles chafe painfully against the rough plastic of the cable-ties holding them captive. I can't even imagine what kind of sick pedophile would want me like this anyways. Beaten to a pulp, oozing blood from multiple different lacerations, and glaring wearily from behind two purple sockets.
The poster child for sex appeal.
Now that my initial shock and adrenaline rush has worn off, I begin to numbly sort through my memories of playing with Barbies and dress-up days. My friends and I would shuffle indiscreetly down the hallway to my parents' bedroom, failing to suppress an outburst of giggles and squeals as we raided my mother's makeup drawer with delight. I was clinging desperately to the last shreds of innocence I would ever own.
I can feel the semi slowing down as the scent of diesel fuel mixed with the sweet, metallic odor of blood drugs my senses. A wave of nausea crashes over me as the truck comes to a halt and the voices of men, if they even deserve that title, engage the vehicle. When the trailer door is thrown open and light explodes into its interior, I'm introduced to a new kind of shadow. The dreadful silhouettes of a group of men approach us and I don't feel fear, I don't feel remorse, I don't feel anything.
The shadows move closer and all the things I used to be move farther away.