Hope is Yellow

Chapter 3

Used to passers by treating her with indifference as she sat holding Joash in her arms it came as no surprise when one particular girl stopped and stared right into her face. Jeridah blinked and offered a friendly smile, which went unnoticed. As if admiring a newly crafted china doll, the girl cupped Jeridah’s sodden face in her smooth, ringed hands. It was unusual for people to take so much interest in a street child; most adults were not moved by the hard insolence of the pestering beggars. They failed to see that their faces were hiding trauma, rejection and loss, rather they believed each child to be no better than vicious little vermin.

The girl spoke softly after the silence became uneasy and Jeridah replied shyly. A gentle symphony rudely interrupted by a clashing symbol. Jeridah had not spoken to anyone other than Joash since the night she fled from home and she was unsure of what was going to happen next. Would she be beaten for ruining the beautiful song? The young girl, perhaps in her early twenties sat down beside Jeridah and began tenderly stroking Joash’s dark hair. She was smartly dressed and smelt wonderfully clean, like a summer’s day when the grass has just been cropped. Her skin was soft, lighter than most and green jewels shone from her ears and throat. Jeridah suddenly felt very inadequate, her own skin was dry, cracked, and full of scabs, her hair the home of many lice. She covered her legs with a bit of cardboard that was being used as a blanket in an attempt to shield the angel from her terrible condition. 

The girl smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes as she watched Jeridah cover herself.  She then put a painted hand into the pocket of her neatly pressed skirt and bought out several shiny, new coins. Firmly shoving a clenched fist full of shillings under Jeridah’s nose she beamed delightedly, watching for a response. Jeridah felt faint with shock, for months now she had been begging for money but nobody was keen to part with it, after all there was always the need for petrol for their third car, just in case. Now someone was offering a handful of shillings just like that, she could not believe her luck.

Clutching at the valuable coins her words stumbled over each other as she grinned merrily, thanking the angel. Whooping with delight Jeridah counted her winnings, there was enough to buy food for the next week, she could hardly contain her gratitude as she threw her arms around the girl and slapped her back in thanks. The young lady recoiled slightly, wincing at the prospect of catching something rather unpleasant, her eyes sill not matching the smile across her face. Seeing Jeridah’s response the girl knew she had stumbled upon an easy target, she had only given the child forty shillings but she looked like she had found a million. Almost tiredly, the lady watched as the pitiful figure nodded, sick with excitement at the offer of more money yet unseen. Jeridah had no reason to doubt the girl’s motives, after all she had just given them a life saving gift. Obligingly she followed the girl, Joash ambled on behind unaware of his new fortune.

Over the next two months, Jeridah was sold to three different brothels. The ‘angel’ had tricked her into p**********n and for delivering fresh, young blood she was rewarded $150 by her pimp. Jeridah was taken to a house where she was introduced to a man; he was the one who would provide the money so long as she behaved. The house was large and had red bricked walls and a smartly tiled roof, it was like the houses she had often dreamed of. Only this was not a dream. She was given new clothes, a too-small white blouse, which was missing the middle button and a brown pleated knee-length skirt with a pink patch at the side. Clothes found in rich people’s bins, once expensive and new making a white child proud, the envy of their friends, now material worn from years of work, stained by blood and milk.

There were no underpants given to her and she felt a little embarrassed with the knowledge that if she were to bend down her backside would not be covered. The blouse smelt of vomit and made her retch; this earned her a short, sharp slap across the back of the head by the man with the money. He put his hand up her skirt, in between her legs and stroked the downy blanket of soft, coiled hairs. Was he checking for underwear? She started to explain that she had not been given any only to be greeted with another slap, this time across the back of her legs. Having had both breasts examined, was he a doctor? she was instructed to do as she was told before Joash was taken from her and she was led upstairs. 

She was taken into a beautifully decorated bedroom, a feeling of terror sped through her as she was left by the man with money. Alone. Or so she thought, an old man on the bed began to undress and it did not take long for her to realise what she had got herself into to. She was part of a s****l treadmill expected to service eight to ten clients a day. The man bellowed and cursed angrily for her to come towards him as she stood, rooted to the spot, super glue on the soles of her scabby feet. He sounded so fierce that she did not dare to disobey him; slowly she pulled her feet up off the floor, one at time, fighting with the strength of the glue as she walked towards him. 

He was completely n***d now; rolls of flesh spilled onto the sheets, lumpy mounds of wet sand, his legs were wide open. Jeridah’s eyes followed his ankle up to his thick, black bush where an ugly erect brown p***s stood to attention, greedily throbbing from amongst the trees. She had never seen anybody’s manhood before; it fascinated her in a way that morbidity has the power to do so. She wondered if her father had manhood like this, she knew her uncle had although it had never been on display like this. She had only felt it press up against her thigh each time he hugged and kissed her but it always remained under cover, a secret spy operating illegally but safe in the knowledge that few people cared and even less could do anything to protect his niece from his own lustful desires.  Jeridah took a deep breath and with her heart pounding in her chest, she sat down next to the stranger, after all, she was desperate for the money. His large, powerfully sweaty hand pulled her towards him and without a word she obediently obliged to his every order. This became the norm but no matter how hard she worked, no money ever came her way.                     

She shared a tiny, bare dormitory with fourteen other girls, at night she, like the rest wept tears of anger and shame. They were woken every morning at five thirty to pray, sometimes she prayed with her face in the bible so she could sleep a little bit longer. After a gruelling hour of bending over, knees pressed against the hard, cold floor tiles breakfast was served. The first customers arrived at 7am and the rest filtered in at hourly intervals. Once her days work was done she was made to thoroughly scrub the walls of her ‘special room’, sweep the floor and change the bedding ready for the next day as if a clean room made for a less seedy practice.

The room had to be spotless otherwise they were forced to sleep n***d, chained in the garden to the gatepost. This had happened to Jeridah on more occasions than she could count and when it did, she wanted to die. She did not know that the gifts of money flowing into the poor, rural community were a powerful economic reason to turn a blind eye to the relationships between children and rich, male foreigners. Even the police made no attempt to put an end to the horrors that the children entailed, they were just as quick to use the unjust, immoral service. 

Tired and angry that the promise of bigger money was a lie, Jeridah began to remember what her Mama used to say. Children are precious, not just, because they are young, appealing or happen to be your own, rather because they are people. However, they are vulnerable, in a world becoming more dangerous every day. The words echoed around her clustered, weary mind as she imagined her Mama sighing, the weight of the world on her shoulders. What in the world is happening to children? Mama would weep, hugging her knees to her chest and gazing lovingly into her small daughter’s eyes.

Pondering thoughtfully over her Mama’s wise words, Jeridah realised that she too was special and more importantly, Joash was special. The truth dawned on her, these adults who came to her were intelligent, powerful and wealthy and they knew what they were doing with these small children was wrong. Very wrong. They were not caring men attempting to save children from starvation on the streets; they were deliberately employing them illegally for their own s****l gratification. There was nothing in it for the girls, apart from a searing pain in the groin and a constant feeling of being dirty, violated and worthless. She felt an incredible sense of hatred towards these perverted men, as she lay squashed between the sweating bodies of her roommates. None of them had a bed; they slept in the cellar on the sodden, stinking carpet soaked with urine and vomit. 

Jeridah began to imagine her clients going home to their rich, cosy houses and sleeping warm and comfortable between satin sheets and their wives.  Any one of the men she knew from her past life could have darkened her doorway.  On the inside they were riddled with vile matter, made from a different material than most but they looked the same as everyone else on the outside.  Jeridah wondered if her Uncle had ever been to the property.  She became restless, being here was no better than being on the streets, in fact, the streets were better, and at least then, she had some pride. Here she had sunk lower than low. Money was important but there were other, more respectable ways of obtaining it. 

It was three in the morning when she was woken instantly by two unfamiliar men calling her everything but her name. They ordered her out of the house, stripping her from her tattered night cloth that did not deserve to be called a nightdress. There was nobody to help her as she was forced to walk, n***d into the cold night air. Outside were other girls, some she knew some she did not, all roped together, n***d, terrified and a few half dead. Jeridah noticed that all the giant men had guns, large, black, ugly, intimidating guns and she let the tears roll freely down her withered cheeks. This was surely to be the end; she had known it was coming.    

At times in her young life death had felt like a welcomed friend, gently sapping the badness from her comrade’s weak bodies, leaving them peaceful, their spirit free to dance. It was true that she had often watched the motions of death with a fascination she could not fathom. It struck in different ways yet always resulted in the same. It brought freedom from pain and offered release from the burden of life. Jeridah had often considered what it would be like to let up her breath and allow this unknown but very real force, take her too. She missed her friends, her sisters with a deep searing loss that had knotted the strings of her heart; at times taking her own life was a seriously contemplated option.  She had seen people do it in all manner of fashions, the fierce rope around the neck being the favourite, it required little resources. Only the rich died in the dramatic style having first overdosed on expensive pills and potions or driven their posh cars over cliffs. Jeridah had known where a rope was and this knowledge used to comfort her, there was always a way out.

The splintered, blistering rope bound round both bony wrists offered no comfort to Jeridah now. It was wrapped so ferociously tight that her skin and the rope were almost one, thick, warm blood dribbled like a scarlet stream from the deep wounds. Forced to march to an unknown destination the children were silent creating an eerie sense of solitude despite the mass of skeletal figures. Not one of the ghostly silhouettes cried out as the stones embedded themselves in the soles of their feet, shattered glass slicing skin and puddles of monsoon rain like ice beneath their toes. Complaints would have been futile, falling on deaf ears and rewarded simply with a lash across the thigh with whatever object came to hand. Anyway complaining meant summoning up the energy to part ones lips and for the majority of the children, this was enough to deter them. They needed to concentrate what little resources they had and focus on moving one foot in front of the other, a task that required all their might in this instance. All hope had gone, Jeridah fantasised about the rope working its way up her body, encompassing the flesh like a hungry Boa, finally arriving at her neck, slowly but deliberately squeezing, strangling.

She awoke; if indeed she had been asleep for she was confused and disoriented, heaped awkwardly in a tiny dark concrete cell. The only light source entered timidly through a purpose built hole no bigger than Jeridah’s own hand. Squinting her blackened eyes she accustomed herself to her new surroundings, there was a bucket in the corner, for what she was unsure. As she searched the room with aching eyes and a dull heart her breathing quickened as she heard footsteps. Breath now coming in short, painstakingly rapid bursts she feared her lungs would collapse under the weight of the still air. The footsteps got louder, her breathing faster with the realisation that there was nowhere to hide. They passed by and became distant until the only sound was a long continuous sigh as Jeridah’s lungs deflated like a balloon with a hole. Whoever it was had gone but although physically more comfortable she felt neither relieved nor afraid. Perhaps she was dead. The hope that death had finally come kept her from insanity throughout the night. She did not know it was night, she did not know if she slept all knowledge of anything other than the searing pain in her feet and wrists had vanished. She was surely dead.

The company of more light allowed Jeridah to see for the first time a door in the wall, barred and repeatedly padlocked it was an intimidating sight. As the heavy stone walls closed in and the air fled through the window, the door, although obviously against her became increasingly appealing, something must be on the other side. All four walls now touched her limp and listless body, even the ceiling was intent on crushing the caged victim below as it moved towards its prey. She knew they would not stop until she was caught, vice like in their powerful killer grasp. The door, she had to get to the door. With legs of jelly but the will of an Ox, she began the mile long walk to freedom. 

Although the other side was unknown, Jeridah reasoned that it would offer protection from the fate of death, which was a certainty if she remained within the grasp of these murderous bricks. Knowing her life depended on it she pounded the door with surprising force, the thuds resounded down the empty corridor. After a short while the thuds were followed by quick, firm footsteps and the jangling of keys, still Jeridah hammered for all she was worth. The door was flung open with such tremendous force that the small girl found herself propelled several feet back into the room, landing in a crumpled heap. She had not seen this much light for days and it tore through her pupils with great rage causing her eyes to stream, head to spin and bile rise threateningly in the back of her throat. Readjusting her path of vision, her sore eyes fell upon a huge, shiny, black boot, which promptly picked itself up and set itself down on her back kicking the wind out of her. 

Silence prevailed for what felt like a hundred years before the boot released her and she found herself being lifted to her swollen, bruised feet. Now standing with the aid of the boots owner, Jeridah’s eyes levelled with the man's shoulders, thick set and strong. He was dressed in police uniform, no one trusted the police that is no one without money for bribes. With no tears left to cry she braced herself and slowly, fretfully allowed her eyes to reach the police officers own, she wanted to see her killer.  Still holding the small girl by the forearms to steady her frail frame the man stared back into the frightened gaze before him. He liked what he saw, he always like fresh blood, and so young. Releasing his grip, Jeridah was unable to hold her position and effortlessly slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

He looked like a giant from where she laid, a hungry, angry giant ready for the kill but his actions took her by surprise. Rather than beating her, which is what policemen did, he knelt down at her side and cupped her pounding head in his huge hands. His skin felt like sandpaper yet his touch was gentle like that of a mother. His hands left her head and were replaced by his lips, thick, scabby and wet from pools of saliva they explored every inch of her face. Both hands were working their way down her quaking body with ease and experience, suddenly Jeridah realised she was n***d, completely stark n***d and vulnerable without clothes to disguise her alluring flesh. She knew what men did to little girls; she had begun to think that they could not help themselves, that they were prisoners to their desires unable to shake off the thrill at the sight of innocent, young flesh. There had been a time when she felt sorry for the men she serviced; after all, they had to pay to fulfil one of their natural desires. Perhaps s*x was a need like water was, it must be awful to be a man.

The police officers hands found themselves between Jeridah’s legs as he comfortably inserted himself, there was no pain for this little girl was wide with experience but there was the familiar feeling of dread and disgust. Was this really all she was for, to fulfil men’s desires and take part in their gross s****l antics? With his lips now on her small, tender breasts he moved about inside her, she lay back sighing involuntarily as she was explored both inside and out. Despite being a policeman he was remarkably gentle, Jeridah could well have been his long-term lover for the way he moved about her with confidence and precision.

They rocked back and forth, both with closed eyes, he enjoying her like a favourite toy, she, wise beyond her years grateful that this man was kind. The c****x came and he groaned with pleasure, his hands in her hair, on her lips, between her legs, his lips curled around a delicate n****e. Then it was over. Calmly and collectedly he removed himself from inside the young child and, returned his trousers to there rightful place and left. Minutes later he was back clutching a plate of rice and a glass of milk. She was surely in heaven, he the angel had taken her spirit and she was dancing inside as she guzzled down the first food to be eaten in days.

Each day that followed consisted of a similar pattern. To get food she had to give something and since she had no possessions her small body was the only thing on offer. This pleased the police officer without a doubt, indeed even if Jeridah had a wealth of materials to give they would not have been enough, he wanted her, entering the small child thrilled him like no adult ever had. Feeling her frail frame against his own sturdy torso, being inside her delicate body, feeling powerful and important, it exhilarated him to the point of madness. Thoughts of her weak and helpless beneath him shadowed all other thoughts, her eyes mesmerised him, her breasts so perfect fascinated him and her tender lips were the sweetest thing.

It would be fair to say that he, a man of thirty two was infatuated by the young girl in his care, she was different from the others, so pliable and informed, she knew what to do. She didn’t shudder at his touch or struggle at his grip, which had left bruises on both arms; she simply complied with his every wish like a well-trained puppy. He did not love her no, love did not enter the equation, and to him she was no better than a mere piece of meat. There was no denying that she was a pretty piece of meat, or at least she could be pretty given different circumstances. The truth was that she was little more than a bag of bones with an endearing, impish smile. He could feel every bone; hear her ribs sigh with each breath as he lay on top of her taking what so many men had taken before without permission. He did not care that his lips were caressing those of a ten-year-old.

Josiah

"What happened to me, did you wonder this at any point? I remember a girl and a lion, if I try hard enough I can remember a loud bang and hear the faint ghostly sounds of a scream from the past. They tell me to try and remember, what is my name they ask me, where are my parents, how did I get here, these are questions that should have easy answers but even though I am now six, I cannot answer them. In my dreams I am surrounded by darkness and I want to run but my legs are rigid and my feet stuck to the ground. Most of all I remember losing people who were important to me but I can’t think who they were. I feel a pain in my heart as I try to see them and know their names; someone saved me, perhaps a young girl. I was saved and I will always think of the person I have forgotten and whisper her my thanks."

Days turned into weeks, Jeridah was fattening up nicely and she had earned herself some clothes. Always the same policeman came. She knew his face all too well, sad, lonely eyes with a small scar above the left and a mole below the right. Rarely was a word exchanged between them, he was not interested in what she might have to say, she had no idea what one said to a policeman. Hatred was not expressed by Jeridah to this man for he was the same as all men and she could not hate all men, anyway he gave her food, clothes and even a small bar of sweet smelling soap. Much of her day was spent alone in the tiny, bare cell. The walls no longer wanted to crush her and she was no longer afraid, prison life was now her only life and the monotonous routine gave her some security. Visits by the policeman were looked forward to with nervous expectation, all children crave affection and all children love to receive gifts.

Occasionally Jeridah had been allowed out of her cell to exercise her legs, which were unaccustomed to the art of walking now. She was terrified of the outside world and often had to be coaxed or threatened out of her cell crying and trembling like a baby.  There were exactly nine hundred and three bricks to her cell, every one of them offered her a security she had not found since the days of having parents.  Once outside she was far too conscious of the eyes boring into her, she could feel them scanning her body, undressing her, anticipating her next move-was she going to run? 

Other children and adults also chained at the hands and feet roamed the concrete lifelessly, lethargically, their every move closely observed as if they had the energy to attempt an escape! Jeridah felt more like a prisoner outside than she did confined in her cell. Although limited her actions were not under constant scrutiny and alone she could be seated or sprawled out between the four walls in peace. Even her mind felt restricted as she aimlessly wandered the other side of the door for she feared the guards could read her thoughts and would try to empty her head as she left the cell. Her thoughts were the one thing the policeman and guards could not rob her of, these treasured thoughts and dreams brought much relief from the hardships of prison life. Escaping to far off places, places where walls and men did not exist, men that is except for her father for she pined the loss of her parents with heartbreaking sadness every day.

It troubled her greatly that she could not conjure up an image of either one of her beloved parents.  They were good people and Jeridah fretted terribly over the discovery that good people did not visit prisoners who were ultimately bad. How she longed to see her mothers kind face and gentle eyes, her papa’s moustache dancing on the top of his lip as he laughed heartily. How desperate she was to be held in their arms with her head rested on their chest and the sound of their heart beat lulling her to sleep. Her papa had been the only man that she felt truly loved her and he did not have to enter her pants in a sickly feeble attempt to prove this love. She had never had s*x with her father, never even kissed him on the lips and she wondered now whether he would visit her in jail if she had.

Unbeknown to Jeridah her time in prison was almost up, in fact she should have been released over a fortnight ago but the policeman was hesitant to let her free whilst she was still so eager to earn food. He may never be so well serviced again. Most of the children marched out of the brother on that fateful night had already been released, their only crime, like Jeridah’s was vulnerability. A Westerner owned the business trading girls for cash with great ease but his bank manager was a fraud and had fled taking his entire life savings. Mr. Roberts could no longer afford to keep the building where the girls worked and slept so he simply moved on to another area where he was certain his trade would be even more successful.

When it was discovered that the girls continued to live in the building, for what choice did they have they were arrested on the grounds of seeking refuge illegally. Since none of them had a penny to their name they could not bribe their way out of jail and depended on the goodwill of the guards to let them go. Two little girls, one nine the other just five had died on route, terrified, violated and shamed their bodies could take no more. A further five died within the first week of arriving in the dark, damp, disease ridden prison.

One little girl was beaten to her death by a guard furious that she had bitten his tongue as he forced it down her throat. It had bled like crazy and the vermin that had minutes before appeared so appealing incensed the guard. He had reached for his baton and spent the next fifteen minutes bringing it down on the child with tremendous force. It is more than likely that she died after the first blow but that did not prevent the monstrous man from making the second…third…fourth…fifth.