Today’s Daily Create challenge urged us to write a five minute story that was about a piece of clothing, but not about a piece of clothing. Evocative, eh? The inspiration for my story came from research I did for a paper last semester, about the prevalence of STDs in the Bakken Oil Field, a paper that ended up exploring sex trafficking in the region. I tried to put myself in the shoes (or in this case, socks) of one of the ladies forced into this demoralizing business. I didn’t have time to finish the story, so it may be a little depressing, but if I had ample time to write an entire novel, the story would have a much happier ending. Enjoy!
I looked down at my dirty, stained socks. After running through the oil fields, there wasn’t much left to them, as big holes had formed on the heels and at the ends of my toes. “If only I had time to put shoes on, this would have gone much smoother,” I thought to myself. But the damage was already done, and my escape had already begun.
Most people don’t think about people like me, people who were plucked from the streets and sold into slavery. Most people don’t know we even exist, considering that they conveniently have to look at their phones right as they’re passing us, huddled on the sidewalk with whatever forms of insulation we can find. That’s why, when the vans start making their rounds and abducting us, no one really gives a care, and the only emotion they feel is happiness that we’re not polluting their streets anymore.
I was only 13 when I was taken from my home on the streets, sold into slavery in the Bakken Oil Fields to serve the workers in whatever ways they found pleasurable. Most people don’t think this kind of stuff happens in America, but believe me, it does. I know. Wherever lawlessness presides, you can bet that some of the people there are not there by choice, but are forced.
For all the nasty stuff well-drilling has done to the environment, I suppose that oil fields have their own stark beauty. (Photo CC by cowboybeeboop)