No Child Says "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be a sex slave"

Never Give Up Searching for Victims

A Day in the Life of a Trafficked Child

I used to get so excited when the school bell rang on Friday afternoons. It meant two days of freedom: playing tag with my friends, watching Saturday morning cartoons, going with mom to the store . . .

Now I don’t know where my mom is; it’s dark and cold in this place. All I feel is gross men’s hands all over my body doing horrible things to me, torturing me. It hurts when they push themselves inside me. I feel so dirty. I want to die but I keep on living in this never-ending hellish nightmare.

Why won’t my mom come get me? Where is my daddy? The evil man keeps hitting me with the belt. He says I’m a bad girl because I won’t do everything those filthy pigs want me to do to them. He says he’s gonna teach me a lesson now. He is opening his zipper and pulling out that ugly thing. I’m choking on it, he’s ignoring my tears.

“Please somebody help me!” My brain keeps screaming over and over and over again.

Nobody comes.