Murderville by Ashley Coleman Page A

and even the little boys were expected to earn their keep. Being turned out before they even hit puberty, little boys were put on the track to attract pedophiles. Some of the young boys were even dressed like women, wearing short skirts with tape concealing their genitals, accessorized with half tops . . . being turned into transvestites before they even knew what sexuality was. Liberty lived in a sex-filled world that terrified her . . . one that she refused to participate in willingly. She was too beautiful to strike so the traffickers starved her as punishment, and it had gotten to the point where she was dry heaving uncontrollably from the empty feeling in her stomach. Two weeks had passed and her body was so weak that she lay curled in a ball of pain. The only thing that she had consumed was the dirty water that she caught in a bucket as it leaked through the warehouse roof. The time passed gruesomely slow as she cried endlessly, wishing that death would come for her. The sound of locks clicking let her know that someone was entering her room. She lifted her eyes to the door and noticed a woman enter the room. The male workers that ran the street operation stood behind her, and she raised her hand in dismissal.
    “Leave me alone with her,” the woman stated.
    She walked over to Liberty, her high heels clicking across the floor.
    Liberty cowered and closed her eyes, expecting the worst.
    “I’m not here to hurt you, little girl,” the woman stated. “Get up.”
    Liberty’s small arms trembled as she pushed against the floor to lift herself.
    “When is the last time you’ve eaten?” the woman asked.
    “I . . . I . . . can’t remember,” Liberty said honestly. Her sunken eyes and bony frame caused a tear to roll down the woman’s face. Human trafficking was a system of manipulation. Liberty didn’t know that the young woman before her used to be in her shoes. Stolen from her home in Dubai, the young woman had moved her way up the ranks. From street whore, to brothel worker, to Madame, she had slept her way out of the misery. Now she helped to manipulate the other little girls that entered the business. Grateful for the dim light, she quickly wiped the tear away as she pulled a cigarette from her clutch. She lit it and slowly sucked in the nicotine, staining the tip in M.A.C. Viva Glam plum as she held the cancer stick between two seductive fingers. She walked to the door and snapped her fingers, immediately summoning a worker in the warehouse.
    “Bring me food for her . . . good food. Go out and get a burger and fries,” she instructed.
    “She doesn’t work, she doesn’t eat,” the man replied sternly.
    “If she doesn’t eat, she can’t work, you imbecile. Look at her. Do you think anyone is going to pay to be with her in that condition?” the woman seethed. She was only twenty-four years old, but she was a veteran in the sex game. She was old news as far as the clientele was concerned . . . past her prime. She had once been the hottest name in the underworld, but her fifteen minutes had passed the moment her breasts had begun to require an underwire. She had become old news while girls like Liberty were on the rise. The worker reluctantly followed her orders, and she focused her attention back to Liberty.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “Liberty,” she replied timidly.
    “I’m Abia,” the woman answered.
    “Where’s A’shai?” Liberty whispered. “I just want Shai.”
    “A’shai? Is that your brother?” Abia asked curiously.
    Liberty shook her head.
    “He came here with you?” she asked.
    “They split us up! He said he would always protect me,” Liberty answered. “Where is he?”
    Abia noticed the look of infatuation in Liberty’s eyes. She recognized the love. “You love this boy?” Abia said in shock, as she silently wondered what a little girl so young knew about love. “Is he your boyfriend?”
    “He’s my friend!” Liberty shouted.
    “I’m sorry that they