Tiffany
Johnson woke from the pain in her mouth.
The inside of her lower lip was sore and she tasted blood. Tiffany was not alone.
The effects of the fentanyl had worn
off and she counted five other girls in the room. But it was not a room. It was a storage locker with a large orange
garage type door. There were two five
gallon buckets and some toilet paper in the left rear corner. As Tiffany’s head cleared, she talked with
the other girls.
They girls came from all stations in
life. All had bar code tattoos on their
lower inside lip. None had any
recollection when that happened. The
girls wept when they recalled their sale into slavery. Soon, one said, a man would come with food
for all of them. Sometime after that,
the same girl said, one of them would be drugged and taken away. She saw it happen to three other girls. The speaker was asked their destination – she
was clueless. Then came a jangling noise
at the door.
Copyright @2017 Terry Unger
