Madison’s Diary


I always wanted to be a model. It had been my dream since I was in the 3rd grade but of course my wretched old mother would disapprove. She wanted me to become a doctor like that was going to happen. Father had left her when I was born, so she was left to take care of me. God bless her heart, but sometimes she could be a real hard head. Nevertheless, I can’t blame her because she had drop out of high school to get a job and raise me at sixteen years of age. She did the best she could and its a shame that I let her down this bad. She didn’t deserve this.

My life was all planned out the day I was born.

“Oh, I hope she don’t turn out like me” my mom, Bonnie said to her mother, Martha.

“Let’s hope so” Martha smirked

“I hope she be a doctor or something….something great” momma said to no one in particular. They named me Madison after my great grandmother, Madison Greenwich, who was a very successful real estate broker. Somehow I knew I would never live up to her greatness. I wasn’t good in school mainly because I always cut class just so I could find a way to pay for the modeling portfolio that I desperately needed. I’m going to be a supermodel just like Heidi Klum, I would tell myself as I went to bed each night.

Little did I know that that dream would never come true rather a horrible nightmare would destroy my life forever. It all started with a modeling casting flyer promising fame and fortune. I came upon it while walking home from school. They were posted everywhere; from park benches to bus stops. I thought I could finally get my big break and get out of this god awful town. As soon as I got home, I ran to my room all excited. That would be the last time I would smile.

It wasn’t a dream come true. Instead of glamour and fame I was forced into the horrible world of human trafficking. I was incessantly raped by hundreds of men and women, beaten to an inch of death, and drugged. I kept a diary consisting of napkins, paper towels, and bath tissue of everything that happened to me; hoping somebody would read it. I would leave them behind sinks, under mattresses, or anywhere I thought somebody could find them. I lost my virginity to a fifty-year old investment analyst who was married and had a daughter about my age. That was not how I had dreamed I would lose it but yet again nothing turned out as I planned.

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