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"There is an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean...An island that has been forgotten by all but a select few for more than a decade. No sane man would willingly venture here, because he would know what awaited him. And that is how I came to be here...I did not know what awaited me. It seemed like it was all going to be so simple...Go out on a boat for a few days, live the high life. Unfortunately, we drifted straight into the waters surrounding this God-forsaken rock...And we never came back. it's been at least 3 years, for sure. All hope of ever finding us has been lost by now. Honestly, I think I'd rather be dead than where I am right now."

"There are 676 of us here. Children, mostly, ages 13-18, but some adults as well. However, the adults don't have to live in dirty, vermin-infested cells, working almost to death until at the end of the month, 2 kids from each group are selected to participate in the Auction. Those who are selected to attend are sold, never to be seen again. I've taken place in several Auctions, but I've never been sold. The Chief's too smart to let me go. I keep his records, balance his finances, create convenient alibis for what happened to the ship that brings us the next load of kids. I've been stuck here for 3 years because of that. I came here when I was 13. I'm 16 now. Most of my friends were sold off long ago, but I still have a few around to talk to. I carry too high a price tag for most buyers, meaning that the Chief has sealed my fate in doing so."

"Upon arriving, each new kid is assigned a letter & number designation. The guards only use the designations-names are thrown out the window the moment the ship arrives. My designation is M-18. I never forgot my real name, though, no matter how much torture I endured at the hands of these monsters, for it was not just my name-it was my personality. Every memory, every thought, every hope, every dream...They're all inside that name-Samuel. My name."

Rubbing my eyes from exhaustion, I looked over to where my 24 cellmates all lay on patchwork beds of cloth & hay. One bed sat empty. Poor Elijah, I thought, the name by which we called M-7, He was only sold yesterday. Now, God knows where he is.It was late at night, but it was the only time I ever got to myself. The guards didn't patrol this late. After all, we were kids. What were we going to do? I set down my quill & looked down at the ragged, dog-eared journal I'd kept for the past year. The ink was nothing more than soot scrapings mixed with my blood. After all, one time or another, I'd come back with gashes in my shirt from the the whip had ripped through, drawing blood out of the painful welt. Looking down to my shirt, my hands instinctively began to feel for the rips & holes in the shirt that I knew so well. As my fingers brushed over one near my back left pocket, the thought crossed my mind I'd never noticed it before. Must be new, I thought.

Tucking the journal into its secret hiding place, I rose from my desk, a large, flat slab of tile that I had ripped out of the cell's floor, supported by 2 scrawny wood supports. With every step, a field of dust & dried dirt formed a ring around my body. I couldn't even remembered the last time I had showered. The only time you ever were allowed to wash yourself was when you were selected to go to the Auction & you needed to look presentable for the buyers. Flopping down on my bed, I closed my eyes & tried to visualize my home that I had been taken from so many years ago. My mother, my father, my little brother, who'd be as old as I was when I'd vanished. Letting these comforting thoughts take the place of the horrors of this island which had become my life, I let the darkness consume me & I fell into a deep sleep.