Tuesday, June 4, 2013

For Vickie, Container, 'Project 157'

It smelled of rust, urine, and mold. 
Thirteen girls were trapped inside... in the dark, in the cold.

Sometimes voices would call to each other outside. 


For the first three days, they screamed and banged on the walls trying to get someone’s attention.


They screamed until their throats burned. They screamed until they slid to the floor and drifted into fitful slumber. The grime on the floor and the walls, the rags, and the half-eaten mattresses offered no comfort. 


The youngest was nine years old. She’d been in the container for a week, watching the other girls come and go, but she had no way of knowing this. It seemed like forever. 


Choking down bits of moldy food. Hiding in the shadowy corners whenever the big metal doors were pulled open and the blinding sunlight flooded in.


The authorities never came, even though a thousand cars passed by every day.


Even though she was my little sister.


End

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