I inhaled deeply, the cold air cutting through my throat like a deadly dagger. The minimal light that glowed from the moon allowed me to decipher the ornate characters on the sign before me, “Access forbidden beyond this point.” When I released the sustained breath, the exhaled air tumbled into the night whilst creating a milky trail of condensation. I had always wondered what existed beyond the haven of my rural town, and the temptation overshadowed my sensibility. Tonight would finally be the night where I discovered my nation’s slumbering secret.

My arms shook with excitement as I tightened the shawl around my shoulders. Usually there would be a dim light along this abandoned road, yet lately the electricity barely functioned anymore. I remembered how my father used to slam his fist on our kitchen table and exclaim the absurdity of rare electricity in our country, yet loud speakers incessantly proclaimed North Korea’s immeasurable brilliance. Sometimes I would hear him mumble such obscenities to strangers on the road, and my mother would scold his wavering faith in our great leader. In our village, the greatness of Kim Jong Un is an uncontested fact, as he is the only man brave enough to assure the superiority of our nation.

I feverishly rubbed my hands together as I strolled down the winding path, an occasional stone getting caught in my sandal. A complex knot wove itself in the pit of my stomach as I drifted further and further away from the border point. My palms grew damp as I contemplated this unforgivable indiscretion I was committing myself to, yet my mind compelled my feet to move forward.

My father disappeared today. He never returned this evening, and I anxiously checked the rice fields where he worked with false hope of discovering him in the midst of complaining and muttering to his co-workers. I didn’t dare ask the other men if they had seen my father, as when I reached the agricultural outskirts of the village, a booming voice crackled to life on the village’s intercom. Once again, Kim Jong Un had protected our wonderful nation from the selfish, murderous West. I tried to contemplate my father’s inability to recognise such achievement as I strolled down the path, yet I failed to establish one convincing reason for his treason.

The rural path I was following was suddenly morphing into flattened grass that failed to rise as a consequence of relentless footsteps. My legs locked into an urgent stop, as complete darkness engulfed me. A thick blanket of cloud eclipsed the moon, and the silvery, watery pools of light in front of me had vanished. My heart pounded against my ribs like a tortured animal in a zoo as I desperately squinted in a hope to eradicate the opaque quality of the night. The trees around me were eerily quiet; not even the scampering of a rodent emitting into the cold night. I heaved a few painful breaths before shuffling forward, as my mind screamed the thoughts of nightmares.

I don’t know what force kept me moving forward by miniscule proportions; perhaps I was hoping I would discover my father. He could have been searching for wild flowers for my mother and gotten lost on the way home. He loved to collect for her a modest bunch of daisies, with the hope she would sketch them onto her sheets of canvas. However, this attempt was futile, as she only drew fantastic images of the supreme leader. I would always compliment her work, but also remark that godly nature of Kim Jong Un could never be recorded in any artistic manner. She would throw me a proud smile at my admission, but then her face would be consumed with disappointment; the dazzling sparkle quickly vanishing from her onyx eyes. She would mutter aloud muffled syllables, but I know the melancholy tone concerned my father.

I recalled this memory whilst I inched forward, and considered returning. I could also request the Supreme Leader to locate my father, as no task was ever too challenging for our nation’s saviour. I would return a hero to my mother; a hero who followed in Kim Jong Un’s bravery in order to protect my family. My glacial pace came to an abrupt halt, as I thoughtfully chewed the inside of my check at the prospect of returning. Suddenly, my bold action propelled itself once more into my conscious – I had disobeyed the sign post and ventured into a forbidden area. If I were to return to my mother now, I would also have committed a huge indiscretion against my family, and more importantly Kim Jong Un. I envisioned the shame I would bring my mother for my rebellious action, and regretted my actions immediately. Returning at this point would only cause embarrassment. I had no choice but to find my father.

I resumed my cautious footwork along the grass, and attempted to picture myself rescuing my father from his sacrilegious ways. I knew I would find him among the trees, whistling a sad tune whilst he calmly tried to find the dirt path leading back to the village. I would feel the warmth of his hand as he led back to our home, and I would proudly inform him of North Korea’s multiple victories during times of war against the rest of the world. I would recite to him my essay on the defeat of the U.S. by our invincible army just three years ago. I envisioned his sceptical face morphing into an expression radiating with pride. I would be deemed the saviour of my family; a hero welcomed with open arms back into the village. These thoughts played through my mind in cinematic sequences, as I slowly began to see the nobility that influenced my decision.

The curtain of blackness before me was quickly shattered after the burst of a spotlight scanned my surroundings, my sigh temporarily blinded by the brightness. A crescendo of stern voices reached my ears as I noticed other lights beginning to flicker to life. I felt relief wash over me; the Supreme leader’s assistants had come to rescue me because they had relocated my father. Yet, as more lights glowed, I saw the outline of barbed wire and iron fences. I squinted to observe crowds of silhouettes that were huddled together. I was perplexed by such a bizarre sight; was this some sort of marketplace? Perhaps they were selling memorabilia of Kim Jong Un’s childhood?

My blissful state was immediately replaced by fear as a thundering chorus of heavy boots on soil began to reach my eardrums. I assumed the worst had happened; I had fallen into the territory of the enemy who harboured spiteful jealousy of our Supreme Leader. Yet my fear was eclipsed by pride, as I knew my great nation would come to save me.

A pack of middle aged men soon became visible, as I felt frozen arms clutch my arms and legs with profound urgency. Although fear still trembled through my body, I knew my state of anxiousness would not last long. However, my illusion was smashed into sharp fragments as the spotlight skimmed over the uniform of these men who were now carrying me towards the ominous iron fence.

I recognised these colours. The lone star amidst the red and blue was sown into each sleeve of fabric, and suddenly I felt a dizzying revelation occur within me. These were not enemies of his Greatness; these were direct military servants of the Supreme Leader. They were forcibly taking me to what I soon outlined to be a prison camp, and I identified figures in the darkness that resembled twigs I once saw a bird use to build a barren nest.

Hot, angry tears streamed down my face whilst my kidnapping played out in slow motion. I would never get to see my mother’s warm smile again, or get to feel the smooth pages of history books. I had unknowingly decided to sacrifice my safety in order to save my father from his disillusionment.

My breath began to lose its frequency, as my throat tightened due to my emotional state. I was starting to lose consciousness, yet before my eyelids carried an unsustainable weight, I remembered something my father said. He once told me of a book he illegally acquired which told the horrific tale of millions of men, women, and children slaughtered in oppressive camps somewhere in the West. I remember shuddering with disgust at the West’s primal behaviour, and to reassure me, my father insisted that the West would never experience this again due to their incessant repetition of the phrase, “Never Again.” Yet those cruel, sadistic cowards are now permitting me to die amidst the same conditions. “Never Again” needs to become, “Stop this now, stop this here.”