My name is Jennifer. Would you PLEASE get a message to my parents that I'm alive and here? I doubt they have enough money to buy my freedom, but maybe they can.....
Why aren't you leaving to tell them? Oh. Well, I'll tell you a bit more then. I'm just fifteen years old. I live in Cleveland. At least I used to. A couple of my friends and I went up to the mall. You know the one by the University. I can't remember its name. We had been window shopping and lost track of the time. Before you know it, we were being kicked out of The Gap because they were closing. We all ran as fast as we could out to the bus stop, just to see the tail lights as it pulled away. While we were arguing over who was going to call their parents to come pick us up, a white stretch limo pulled up.
My peeps and I stood in shocked silence when the chauffer opened the door and a boy not much older than us got out. He said his name was Jarel, and he saw the bus pull away and us arguing. He was like, megacute and had buns that wouldn't quit. He also spoke perfect English, with no accent. He asked if we needed a lift, and I replied, "No, we really shouldn't."
Millie pinched my butt so hard I spun around to slap her. She anticipated me, and caught my hand mid-air. Amongst the giggles and squeals, Heather and Millie were trying to convince me and themselves it would be okay to get a ride home from the cutie in a limo. The young man just stood there with his arms crossed, smiling as we argued amongst ourselves. Finally the decision was made that we would, because no one was willing to call their parents.
Jarel held the door as we all piled into the limo, putting on airs as if we always rode around in stretch limousines. He had a killer sound system with the Hansen Brothers casting their spell with sweet harmonies. He offered us all a Diet Coke, and opened a refridgerator with those cute mini-cans of soda. He took one himself, and passed one to each of us. We opened them simultaneously and toasted as if we were drinking champagne. That was the last thing I remember.
I came to bound and gagged in a warehouse. I could smell the ocean and hear the sound of ships. The blast of the horns was way to low a tone to be normal boats. Millie and Heather were no where to be seen. If I could have gotten the duct tape off of my mouth I would have screamed, and tried to find them. But those heroics where just movie plots that played out in my head as I lay there helplessly. A man slapping some sort of leather thing in his hand walked up to me smiling and everything went black again.
I don't know how long it went on, but every time I started to come to, a foreign woman in a lab coat would inject me with something and I would black out again. One time they let me stay awake long enough to drink some water and eat what looked like oatmeal, but I couldn't keep it down. The next thing I know, I'm being injected again. I have no idea of how long I was out between the times they woke me up to water and feed me like a cow. I had soiled myself countless times, but I couldn't seem to get it across that I needed to use a bathroom. I did manage to figure out from the motion and smell, that I was on a ship.
One time when I came to, I heard a girl screaming. I could not tell if it was Millie or Heather, but realized that I should be screaming too. I just never seemed to come out of the drugged sleep with enough clarity to remember to scream.
Then I came to here. I can tell that I'm in some arabic country. The language, the air, the food, everything is different. I know now that I'm being sold into slavery. Last year, I did a report on white slavery in modern times. What shocked me and everyone else is that the government knows about at least three American women trapped in Saudi Arabia, and are doing nothing about it. My proof was two articles in the Wall Street Journal. One was from June 13th, 2002 and another one on June 26th of 2002.
I think the other two women in here are from Russia or some other Slavic country. The one with the cigarette just sits there and wails day and night. I don't know if I hate the sound of her wailing or smell of those nasty cigarettes worse. The woman in the middle with her back arched, got whipped. Like with one of those Indiana Jones type whips. She said something to the guard over there in the jeans and Nike sneakers. Next thing you know, they were dragging her out of here and tying her up to that post. The one right over there. They made me watch. Whenever I tried to look away, a guard would force my face back that way. If I closed my eyes, he would slap me until I opened them.
Yesterday a man in the long white robe and turban came in and kept walking around this cage looking at the other two women and me. Eventually he gave my captors a lot of money. He had a woman with him, but all you could see was her eyes though a mesh in the black robes that covered her from head to toe. She came to me, and in broken English asked "What name, you?" I told her and she nodded. If eyes can smile, they did. She managed to get across to me that her husband had bought me. She made it clear that I would do the cleaning for her and to service her husband whenever he wanted. But they could not take me yet. She kept saying something that sounded like "Istibra" and "one mense". Eventually, I understood that they would be back for me in 28 days.
I beg you please! Get in contact with my parents!.....
Why are you just sitting there silently?