They named it The Faces Of Human Trafficking.
Yup, me and my friends went there.
In soliciting for volunteers to participate, there were a few roles to fill: wealthy buyer of trafficked humans, trafficked person/slave/chattel, rival gang member, and child soldier (which would be played by littles).
Did I mention I love my friends?
I chose to be chattel and showed up as asked an hour before the show was to begin. As we congregated outside the Barn, it was getting chilly. Thankfully I wore a hoodie.
As I looked on my fellow slaves, I noticed I was a bit over dressed, just in a simple school girl outfit. One person was in a wedding dress. Another was completely naked; we huddled around her to keep her warm. As we received our briefing from the show coordinator, I contemplated changing clothes before we began.
With seven slaves shown up, the organizer explained the plot and what we as slaves were asked to do. The organizer also gathered the other groups, explaining their parts, and passing out safety glasses to those who needed them.
Along with there being child soldiers and gang members, there were also air soft guns and rifles for them to wield against each other.
Did I mention we go all out for our fun?
Thankful that I was wearing a hoodie, I slipped a pair of safety glasses into my pocket; I had plans of my own for later.
With some time before we were set to start, I ran back to my cabin to change. I had a tank top which had been riped apart but I’d sewn back together. Slipping it on, I ran back to the Barn. After it was advised I take off my bra (lest I want it to be destroyed) and a fellow slave riped open my shirt some more, we were ready.
Our slave master started lining us up. To bind us, he used an individual piece of chain and one lock to secure our wrists. Each of us also received a hood to put over our faces… after our hands were bound. Yes, it was funny to those watching.
Running a single long chain through every lock, I positioned myself as next to last. The last slave was picked for her role, and seeing as she was a friend, I wanted to be able to laugh and chat with her throughout the show.
A photographer came over and took pictures of the assembled child soldiers, and then small army with their general, and then the line of slaves. I was glad for the hood, as I could laugh without ruining the photo.
Our slave wrangler then moved us along, leading us over the grassy hill and into the Barn where the buyers (and the audience) awaited.
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