t. martin o’neil

The inky, black room and the horrible smells left little doubt this was a dungeon; a wretched hell intended to defeat the spirit and humanity of those it confined. The occupants were children, thrust into the hell they now faced through no act of their own, but by the depraved and morally bankrupt men and women who sold their lives and young bodies to fulfill their own greed. The door cracked open ever so slightly. Into the blackness, a wretch of a man crept. The dim, back-light of the outside hallway showed his skinny, almost bald figure as if it were in a spotlight. His torn, ragged clothes hung on a dirty, pox-scarred body. The rope holding up his bloomer-like pants was untied. His almost toothless, evil grin screamed his intentions. Each child shrank in fear from the sight before them. What had they ever done to deserve this nightmare? Did God hate them this much? Their fears were not sanctioned by governments, but by a depraved humanity. Members of SEAL Team One quietly entered the building after eliminating the feeble resistance of a few untrained guards. If discovered, it meant the SEALS caused all out war between two nations not yet at war for this was an armed invasion. These are the human stories; stories of the love of fellow man. Stories not found in the hate spewing news. Stories instead revealed from downgraded, classified files and told here in The Worth of Souls.