Run Child Run
Whispers echo through the auditorium, waiting for the program to begin. The overhead lights dim. The crowd grows quiet as a petite woman walks to the center of the stage. She's wearing an off-white silk blouse and maroon slacks. Her long, black hair is in a bun at the nape of her neck, highlighting her round olive face and dark brown eyes. She takes the microphone from the stand and says, "300 000 children fall into the hands of traffickers each year, and I was one of them." Lowering her head, she gulps back the tears threatening to escape, looks up, and says, "Through the grace of God and a lot of love and support, I was one of the lucky few who survived." A picture of a child appears on the screen. Turning, she points and says, "That was me a few weeks before my abduction. I turned twelve that day." A sorrowful look crosses her face. Gazing into the distance, she says."I remember the horrid night like it was yesterday."
***
"Heavy rain clouds cover the glow of the full moon's light casting a gray haze across the starless skies. The smell of spring flowers wafts through the cool gentle breeze. Night creatures' shrilly cries echo all around, warning me of the many dangers lurking nearby. I'm racing through the jungle, hoping to escape the clutches of the vile man. My legs ache, my chest burns, and my throat is dry. My twelve-year-old heart is beating so hard that it feels like it will pound right out of my chest. Fear surges through every fiber of my being. I know what'll happen if he catches me, what's already happened to so many in our town. Their grim demise is what's forcing me on.
I reach the clearing to find the street deserted. It has been a common occurrence since the drug cartel, and other malicious men have made their way into our town.
I look to my right and discover that the few reaming buildings are charred frames held up by a few rusty nails. It's the result of a thirty-year war. Something Guatemala may never recover. The smell of ash and other burnt materials lays heavy in the humid air.
I notice the old catholic church at the end of the road. It's always been a safe haven for me. The place I go when things get heated at home or when the last scrap of food is gone. With a quick-tempered father drinking up the family funds, this is often the case. Thinking that no one would search for me there, I race toward it.
Stumbling up the crumbled remains that were once a beautiful grand staircase, I throw the sliver of a door open. The rusty hinge squeaks in protest. The charred wood topples sideways, causing it to hang by a single bolt.
A light suddenly brightens the dark, barren streets. I discover an unfamiliar car coming up the road when I turn around. I dart inside to find layers of ash on either side of the aisle where the old wooden pews had once been. I glance towards the front and see the altar and the podium are piles of rubbish. The statue of Mother Mary and Baby Jesus that had stood in the corner is now a large metal heap. A portion of the roof has fallen over top of them.
My last bit of strength drains from my body, bringing me to my knees. Help me, Lord, please help me, I sob, hoping he'll give me the strength and courage I need to escape.
The memory of how my parents handed me over to those men flashes through my mind. Mommy didn't shed a tear, and Pappy acted like he was happy to see me go. What did I do to make you hate me so? What Mommy and Pappy, what?
I then recall Pappy saying he might have to pay someone to take me off his hands, and he wished that the good Lord had taken me, not my twin. I was often blamed for my sister's death, even though her weak heart was the cause of her demise. My parent's sorrow keeps me living in her shadow, thinking about what might've been.
So often, I wanted to fall to my knees and say, please, Mommy and Pappy, please love me, your only living child. Please find it in your hearts to love me half as much as you do, my twin. I didn't dare mutter my thoughts, not with Pappy's quick temper and his heavy hand. My parent's constant disappointment replays in my mind. I'm sorry I'm so ugly that I'm not the one you want. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I cry.
A bright light shines through the eerie shadows. Turning, I see a fancy car pulling up to the curb. A car door slams. The men shuffle up the walk. I dart down the aisle, hoping to find a safe place to hide. A flock of birds takes flight, slipping through the large gap in the ceiling. Frightened little night creatures scurry around my feet.
The two men reach the bottom step and stop. Maybe they're not coming in, after all, I think. One says something, and they both laugh. Their cackles send shivers down my spine. Realizing there's no place to hide, I race towards the exit. Ash whirls all around me when I run. My eyes water my nose begins to itch. Pulling my shirt collar around my face, I fight with everything I have to contain a sneeze.
Their heavy footsteps echo through the building.
I glance over my shoulder to find the two men stomping down the aisle. My foot catches on some rubbish, sending me to the floor. I look back and see the men running my way. I cough and sneeze as I scamper to my feet. I take another step trip and fall again.
One of the men grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me to my feet.
Help me, please, somebody help me, I scream. I feel my long, chocolate braid ripped from my scalp when I fight to get away.
The man shoves a cloth against my face as he pulls me against him. His large hairy fingers clamp tighter across my face.
I squirm around, hoping to get away. My head feels woozy, and my surroundings spin. I hear the two talking, but their voices seem miles away. A terrifying thought pops into my head. What happened to the others?
Tears slide down my ash-covered face. Why couldn't you ever love me, Mommy and Pappy? Why? Why did things have to end this way?