trafficking, according to DiamonD

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     My breathing had escalated the second that piece of duct tape touched my mouth.  But it was the mask being pulled back down over my face that sent my heart on a verge of explosion as it felt like a time bomb had literally been punched through my chest as I believed the feeling derived from the utter fear of being bounded and shrouded in darkness; being shuffled from one foreign place to another beneath voices that tended to gawk rather than bring comforts of any kind.

     But, and however, this was the genuine business of abduction, of shielding, of trafficking; everything was done in hush, done underground even though we treaded above ground.  Often times in the dark, other times in the light, sometimes in public.  And it was rather amusing how no one ever seemed to notice anything as if we victims were just merely ghosts or objects of detestation:  Something ignored, something that was frowned upon, never looked upon for fear of being a liability, or perhaps and even worse, a casualty.


~taken from DiamonD

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