I paced in my cell. It had been a long day, and not a good one. Yeah, captured by the enemy and forced to wait for your torturer in a rat filled, putrid room wasn’t, in any way, “good”. No, this wasn’t even a room, it was… a closet.

Back home, I could have had a closet like this, filled with clothing. Only if I had stayed Daddy’s girl, of course, which wasn’t going to happen, ever. It was worth it, in a strange way. I had no idea what they were going to do to me, of course, but I knew what my father would have done. And not knowing was more comforting, questions wrapping around you like a thick wool blanket. I would kill for one of those.

I was really quite cold, though. It was winter, and while I had my winter wear and coat and all, when you’re stuck in a room that’s as airy as this one, and you’re confined in a small space and can’t exactly move, you get cold, fast. They wouldn’t even let me cover up the tiny slit they considered a window. I could never fit myself into it, so forget escaping that way. But the wind that blew in from it was freezing, and I huddled in a corner, right under the window, so that the air might blow over me and spare my bones from shaking like they were now. From fear or the temperature, I don’t know.

The door opened. Oh my, I was scared. The guard motioned with a flick of his head to come over, but I couldn’t move. So he had to drag me, by my hair, which was completely unnecessary, in my opinion. He could have helped me up by offering his hand, but fine. If he wanted to seem all mean and tough, that’s fine by me. I don’t care.

Ah. The things I do to make myself laugh. I’m going to look like an idiot if I tell myself a joke and laugh randomly in the middle of an interrogation.

After I got to my feet, the guard led me to the interrogation room. He was really quite young. Not as young as me, but I didn’t think North Korea accepted recruits as young as I was. South Korea did, however. We were trained, and then sent over to work undercover. I was caught after six months living here, by a curious neighbor that wondered why my accent wasn’t quite like the others. The accent is the hardest part to learn. Really. They have all these weird words, and they say our words so weirdly. But I digress.

He sat me down in a chair, and left the room after tying my hands up.  I knew the drill. If I told them something good, information about the war, after I did, I was shot. If I didn’t, I was given more time, possibly two, three weeks, to see if they could possibly break me, until I was shot. I decided to stick it out and see what happened.

Another man entered the room, accompanied by the previous guard and a lady. They, upon close inspection, were all quite beautiful. But the first man had flaws, such as his too long limbs, and ridiculously big eyes. The other man, however, the one of obviously higher ranking, was too perfect. There wasn’t anything I could say about him, and that made everything seem a bit off to me. It made him a bit less handsome. Does that make sense? By being perfect, you automatically aren’t perfect.

The girl, however, had no equal that I had ever seen in her beauty. She was just tall enough for a girl, and had exotic eyes and absolutely flawless skin. Everything about her was incredible. Even though she was the enemy, I couldn’t help but notice the slight uplift on the ends of her lips that suggested she smiled regularly, and therefore was a kind person.

Needless to say, I hated her.

“You shall address us sir and madam,” the second man abruptly started off. I shall now call him Sir 2. Or sorry, I shall now address him as Sir 2. Who talks like that, anyway? Who is he trying to impress? Everyone else was of lower ranking than he was, and I was a prisoner.

“Okay, sir. Wow, no, I’m not doing that. What am I, your slave?” I replied. I had to.

But even if I was going to say more, I couldn’t. The first guard slapped me so hard I gasped in shock, and I felt the red flush creep up to my cheek. I would have touched my hand to my cheek and glared at him in wounded indignation, but my hands were quite literally, tied up at the moment, and honestly, I didn’t have the strength. I was just struggling not to cry.

“Maybe over there they didn’t teach you respect, but here we do not tolerate such disobedience,” he spat through his lips. The way he said there made me sick to my stomach. He emphasized it, as if he actually said the words South Korea he would die or something. Our land is not like here, that’s all I can say about that.

I chuckled, a low deep sound. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, but as long as they didn’t fall, I was satisfied. Plus, with the red cheek and hoarse voice, I think it added dramatic effect, don’t you?

“That’s kind of funny; you can’t speak about respect when you just hit a girl younger than you. For what? Joking about something your senior said? Actually, it happens a lot at the dinner parties I have to attend. Someone says something, I make fun of it, we all laugh awkwardly, it’s all good. But never,” I croaked out, “have we hit a girl. Not even in interrogations, I can tell you that too. Rest assured, if any of your female soldiers have been caught, and they have, they have never been treated this way. Not by my comrades.”

And that earned another slap. Good.