I am beginning to understand how girls in third-world countries walk into slavery. They are desperate. They are told, and believe, in America everyone is rich. They are told they will have enough to eat, a nice bed, and beautiful clothes, luxuries they could never dream of. They will be able to send support back to their family. Just come with us. They do.

Picture in your mind a ten-foot sunflower, proud and stately, its’ beautiful yellow flower full of promised seeds. Now you see its’ face thrashing to and fro above nine and a half feet of dirty brown floodwater.

“Hurry, we’ll be late,” the woodchuck brothers whispered to the floppy-ear rabbit family.

“The master is waiting. We don’t want to be late.”