Rising from the lowest is a fight for survival.
My name is Purity Adam, but there's nothing pure about me. Born and raised in a small town in the south, growing up wasn't a beautiful dream it was something else entirely. My childhood was a ticking clock of chores, silence, and survival.
I came from a big family where everyone kept pushing things to tomorrow. Nobody had the time or interest to explain life to us. We just grew, quickly, like weeds. Our conversations were always about duty. No one asked if we were okay.
Speaking up was like committing a crime. You talk? You get silence. You ask questions? You become the family disgrace.
We weren't allowed to be curious, but I always was. I remember how I used to play around with neighborhood friends. We were loud, playful, and full of mischief. I was the one with the wildest laugh.
One day, as we played near the edge of the street, we stumbled on something strange. Two adults. Touching each other. Kissing. Moaning.
Their bodies tangled, their lips locked, hands roaming with no shame. We stood frozen, unsure whether to laugh or run. But curiosity won, and we stayed.
then burst into laughter. We didn't understand it, but it looked weird and funny.
They didn't stop.
One of the adults looked at us and said, You enjoy watching? One day, you'll enjoy doing it too.
The woman laughed.
And something in me folded.
I rushed home, excited to tell Mama what we saw. I thought it was a big discovery.
She slapped me. Hard.
No explanation. Just slapped me and warned me never to say such things again.
I went to my older siblings and no one said anything. They looked at me like I had just committed a taboo.
Later, I asked my eldest sister.
She hissed. Don't ever repeat what you said to anyone. Do you hear me? Are you cursed?
The next day, I asked my teacher. She laughed, called me a spoiled child, used me as an example to the entire class, and reported me to my parents.
That one question ruined everything.
At school, I became a topic. At home, I became a disgrace. I was beaten, mocked, punished, and ignored. Just because I asked a question.
That was the beginning of my pain. That was when I knew I'd never have a normal childhood. That day, my innocence died.
I stopped talking much. I stopped asking questions.
Until one evening.
I was coming home from a long walk, trying to clear my head, when I saw a man in our living room. A distant friend was waiting for me. They said his name was Mr. Benny. He wore a tired face and shiny shoes.
He said my name softly, like he wasn't sure if I remembered him. His eyes looked kind. His voice is calm. He told my parents he had a plan to help me. A fresh start. A better environment. School. Peace.
He spoke with confidence. Promised them he'd give me a new life. One where I wouldn't be laughed at or beaten for asking questions.
My parents didn't hesitate. It was as if they were waiting for someone to come and relieve them of me.
He would take me away, he said. A new town. A new home. A new beginning.
I should have been afraid.
But I wasn't.
He smiled at me and said, You don't belong here. You need a better life, Purity. Let me take you with me. A new town, a fresh start. You deserve it.
My eyes lit up.
A new town? A better life? Dreams that I had wrapped inside me for years suddenly started to breathe.
I was too happy to think straight.
I believed him and I was excited.
Finally, I thought, a chance to breathe. A chance to be understood. A chance to learn without fear.
That night, I couldn't sleep. My heart danced. My mind imagined a life where beds were soft and people listened. I packed what little I had: two dresses, a worn-out pair of shoes, a notebook with empty pages.
That was the night I unknowingly walked into the cold streets of pain.