TICK TOCK An Awareness of Satanic Ritual Abuse

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Chapter 14: The Mines

I do not know if I can adequately put this to paper. I can barely see through the tears that stream. The pain inside stings the air inside my lungs, imploding.

There are those, those sold. How will we ever stop the sale of children? How? When it reaches so high, when it is so protected by those in places of authority. How? Who will help them? Don’t you know, every day while you are sitting watching comedies on tv or doing something enjoyable, thousands of young children are being raped for a fee. Don’t you know children are dying. And not just dying, but dying in the most painful of ways after having survived a life of sales. Human trafficking. It touches every country. Don’t you know? And IF you know, IF you know and the person next to you knows and EVERYBODY KNOWS HOWCOME IT STILL EXISTS?????

I cannot stop the tears. I cannot stop the pain. Imploding in on itself. The anger, the hate.

What is wrong with this world? What is wrong with the people that prey on young innocent children? How can a child’s body be attractive? Don’t they know they do not find youth in the stealing of youth from a child? Don’t they know? Hocome no-one ever taught them that?

How can it be that human trafficking can be such a lucrative business? How. What monsters do we live amongst? I cannot breathe for the weight of it.

There was a mine shaft. When I was young. Years ago. A mine shaft where they kept the children hidden. The children waiting to be sold. The children waiting to die. Thats where they kept them. Hidden underground four levels down.


These are the children that have arrived in shipment from various sources. I do not know the sources. But the cages fill until there is a sale. An auction. That’s where people go to buy children. And not children they want to provide a loving home to. Although I have heard it said that some children are lucky. Some children get bought and never sold again but live with one abuser. But most are not that lucky. Most are sold to be sold. Resold and resold. Rented out. And finally snuffed out. Every child that is trafficked will eventually find their rest at the end of an over-extended experience of sexual or physical abuse. The ones that have outgrown their attraction of youth, are either sold into prostitution circles that provide the renting of older children, young adults. But seldom does a child pass the age of 19 in those circles. All children who survive that long, they end up snuffed. There is a market for snuff films. Although most of them are private collections having being filmed for those with enough money to pay and who have a taste for, or a desire to experience, violently ending the life of an innocent. This world is a sick place. And those sick people, they walk amongst us. Passing you in the street, standing behind you in the shops. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers, all vocations there are sick people in all walks. Except the problem is, you can’t tell they are sick by looking at them. You can’t tell they are sick by talking to them. You can’t tell they are sick by befriending or associating with them. You can only tell they are sick if you are sick and part of the same sick circle.

Do you know the sound of an infant being broken beyond repair? I pray you do not. That sound, like a pop just muffled. That sound when the blood will start to flow uncontrollably and without stopping until its all out. There are those in life who enjoy hearing that sound while they are raping an infant. Sick. And they walk among you and me. And no-one is the wiser.

Do you know the sound of the vehicle pulling up outside to deliver new children to the “stockpile”. Do you know the sound of their feet on the gravel as they shuffle the affects of being drugged for the journey? Do you know the stripping of their clothes, the numbering, the photos? Do you know how small they are? How the age of 12 is already becoming too old? Do you know? DO YOU KNOW? No. Only those who are sick know.

Do you know the guilt you carry when you remember such things years after it has happened? When its too late? Do you know the feeling of knowing such things could still be happening but you have no idea if its past or present? Dissociation and the breaking of the amnesia barriers. Healing. To get through hell you have to pass through it.

Do you know what it feels like to know things and know you could not do anything to help them? Do you know what it feels like to remember things and have no way of helping them now its too late. Do you know what it feels like to know so much yet not enough to be able to save the children? I do.

I wonder, what is the point of my life if I cannot help save the children. All I can do is write about what happened, what still happens in undisclosed locations ALL OVER THE WORLD. Not just in my past. Not just some small sick group of people. No. Too many people are sick, and the world is just getting sicker.

Do you know they treat them like cattle.

Do you know you can get whatever you want as long as you pay the price tag.

Do you know?

Do you know how we can save them? I do not.

I can only hope that writing will bring the awareness, to the survivor who will hopefully get saved, to the reader who will hopefully be the one to save those caught in the sick underground.

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