Narrative Essay About Human Trafficking

I knew it, I knew it couldn’t be true. I tried to lift up my shaky right hand, not being able to move my head, without being put into tremendous pain. I attempted to bring it into my line of vision. But right when I was able to see my fingertips, I realized my arms were restricted, tied down. I had no control over my own limbs, but it was too late. My arm slammed back down right into the wooden chair I was stuck in, making me bite down vigorously on my bottom lip to stop me from screaming out, I was to petrified to scream. It was dark and I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know what was out there, or worse yet, who was out there. I couldn’t deny it. I was vulnerable.

I don’t even fully remember how I got here, yes fully, my memory of the encounter is immensely vague. The moments of my struggling went by so much slower than they actually did. I can still hear his rough voice in my ear, “Stop trying, you’re gonna lose. He was right. I had lost. My thoughts were cut off by a scream, a girl’s scream. I wasn’t alone here. He’s taken more. Unless, he didn’t take more. Maybe he gave me away, you know, to somebody else. Wait, isn 't that human trafficking? Was I being trafficked? The thoughts that were being jumbled around in my head suddenly came to a halt when I heard silent footsteps.

Well, the footsteps

I felt like my chest was closing up, my breathing uneven, I was lightheaded, my face becoming numb, my mouth dry, and my body shaking. All at once the footsteps had stopped and a flashlight flicked on and illuminated the floor in front of my shaky bare legs covered only with a pair of tight black mid-thigh shorts, “Look who’s awake,” the shadow of a tall man spoke in a deep, mysterious voice. He shut the flashlight off and walked away, and I saw a light turn on in the far corner of the room, from the looks of it, it seems as if the room I was being held in was the size of a middle school