Her good friends are all doing it. Getting involved in it. Willingly. Happily. Like nothing is wrong at all.
She’s forced into it, as the rest of them are. But unlike them, she’s confused. She’s lost. She doesn’t want to do it. And she thinks to herself: God definitely doesn’t want this. I don’t want this. But I can’t get out of it.
Her friends see a group of young African girls, all about 7 years old, and call out to them. They approach the “leader” of the group, and offer the young girls US$100 each to become prostitutes.
The “leader” thinks US$100 is a little too little, although it’s obvious that she doesn’t mind becoming a prostitute for the money. She doesn’t mind all of the girls becoming prostitutes for the money.
But as for her… Her heart is screaming out against it. They don’t know what they’re doing… they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. DON’T DO IT! DON’T SAY YES!
It’s a storm within, and her expression tells of it, but she says nothing.
The young girls are gone now, and she’s left to her own thoughts.
She’s afraid. She doesn’t know what to do. She knows she can’t get out of it, although every part of her wants to. She’s afraid for the first man who comes. It’s not so bad if he’s good-looking, but what if he’s a perverted, dirty, ugly man? What if he hurts me? How can I allow someone, many someones, to rape me? How do I run away? How do I fight back?
Her boyfriend is about to perform at a gig. She’s planned a surprise for him that will take place after, and everything’s going well. She sits at a table with a good friend and her boyfriend.
Her good friend talks about her problems, which normally do seem like problems.
But not today. As she thinks about herself being forced into prostitution, her friend’s problems don’t seem so big anymore. They’re really just lame and insignificant.
Part of her wants to share her struggle that is tearing her apart. Share it with her boyfriend. Share it with her friend. Share it with someone. Anyone.
But she is afraid.
She is fortunate tonight. She manages to escape. For the first time. Before anything has even happened.
Because she wakes up from her dream.
And then she wonders…
What if that dream had been reality?
Once again, she realizes how small her problems really are. How lame and insignificant they are when compared to the real struggles people have in life.
And, for the first time, she can actually very, very vaguely understand how prostitutes feel. How people forced into sex labour feel. And how strong they must be to even remain alive in the midst of such pain – physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually...
She’s thankful that she’s safe, and she’s thankful that she had that dream.
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