(From Ashes to Hope) Chapter 34
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The young beggar furrowed his brow and thought for a moment before
nodding obediently. But his eyes were filled with reluctance as he stared at me
intently.
Seeing him like this, my heart ached.
Such a good child, forced to beg on the streets… I silently vowed that if we
made it out alive, I would adopt him, send him to school, and give him a carefree
life.
After we settled on a plan, we listened attentively for any sounds from
outside.
Night had fallen, its darkness enveloping everything like a heavy curtain.
The warehouse was silent, only the occasional muffled sobs of the girls
breaking the deathly stillness.
The young beggar understood the importance of this mission. He stood
straight in the darkness, his small frame radiating an unusual courage.
When everyone seemed to have fallen asleep, or were pretending to sleep
out of fear, we carefully dug out the hole again, our movements as light as
feathers, trying not to make a sound.
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The young beggar stood by the hole, took a deep breath, as if inhaling all the
courage in the world, then, like a nimble and alert cat, slipped through the
opening, disappearing into the darkness.
I watched his retreating figure nervously from a broken window.
But before he could get far, a bright light suddenly shone on him.
One of the guards patrolling outside had spotted him.
The traffickers, their faces twisted with malice, charged towards the young
beggar.
He panicked and tried to run, but his small body was no match for these
strong, grown men.
They quickly caught him and started beating and kicking him mercilessly.
His frail body couldn’t withstand such violence, every punch and kick
sending excruciating pain through him.
My heart ached as I listened to the sounds from outside, regretting my
decision to let him risk his life.
His face and body were quickly covered in bruises and cuts, his clothes torn,
his skin broken and bleeding.
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He struggled in pain, whimpering softly, but his voice was too weak to be
heard in the silent night.
The traffickers continued their brutal assault, cursing and venting their
anger.
The young beggar gradually lost consciousness, his vision blurring.
But in his last moments of awareness, he thought that if he fainted, the kind
lady would be taken away, and he would never see her again.
Emma and Jackie’s faces were etched with fear, a wave of terror washing
over them.
Their eyes were wide with horror, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.
They were completely lost, their minds blank, as if frozen in fear.
The other captive girls were also awakened by the commotion.
They huddled together in fear, like frightened rabbits, their bodies curled up
tightly.
Their eyes darted around in the darkness, trying to make sense of what was happening, their gazes filled with panic and helplessness.
I bit
my lip so hard I could taste blood, fighting back tears, trying to control my emotions.
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“The young beggar has been discovered,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.“Our
situation is even more dangerous now.”
Despair spread through the girls like a plague. Their suppressed sobs filled
the warehouse once again, a mix of fear for their unknown fate, worry for the
young beggar, and helplessness for their own predicament.
After venting their anger and beating the young beggar unconscious, the
traffickers threw him like a rag doll, a piece of trash, at the warehouse entrance.
We heard the thud and rushed over, our hearts sinking.
We carefully carried him inside. His small body felt so fragile in our arms.
Tears streamed down my face as I looked at his bruised and battered body.
I gently reached out, my hand trembling as I caressed his swollen and
wounded face, my heart filled with guilt and self–reproach.
I kept blaming myself, why did I let him risk his life again? If not for my
decision, he wouldn’t be suffering like this.
His breathing was shallow, like a flickering candle in the wind, threatening
to go out at any moment. But his unyielding eyes opened slightly.
He looked at me, his gaze filled with unspoken words.
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He tried to raise his hand, wanting to gesture something, perhaps to comfort
us, perhaps to convey some important information.
But his arm, covered in whip marks, fell limply back down, the helplessness
heartbreaking.
Tears streamed down my face as I choked back a sob.“You were very brave,
hang in there, I’ll treat your wounds,” I said.
I quickly searched for something to bandage his wounds, even a clean rag
would do. I wanted to do everything I could to ease his pain.
But before I could find anything in this meager and dimly lit environment,
the warehouse door was flung open with a loud bang.
The menacing guard with the scar strode in, followed by someone holding a
high–powered lamp. The blinding light shone in our faces, the glare making it
almost impossible to open our eyes, the world fragmented by the harsh light.
The guard’s fierce gaze swept across our faces. “Which one of you hid the
phone?” he barked.“Hand it over, don’t make me use force.”
My heart sank, my stomach churning. Did they know about our attempt to
call the police?
But then I thought, if they already knew, why didn’t they interrogate us
about the phone earlier? Something didn’t add up.
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