North Korea and her dynasty, with insanity on all sides
The first time North Korea shots herself in the head is on a joking dare from her boss, a late night of black humor where he expresses disbelief of her immortality.
North clutches her gun hard, it feels too big for her small hands and she feels much older than she looks.
“Watch me,” she says. “Korea is forever.”
Then she shoots and even though China had told her about surviving even worse wounds he never told her it hurts.
Still, North is glad she did it. If she hadn't, Kim Il-sung would never have understood their combined strength. She is everything to him and he everything to her.
For a brief while she and his son are in the same age, playing in a military bunker and North smiles a distant smile, thinking about the games the played only a few days earlier as she offers him her arm and he cuts, staring in fascination as she heals only moments after the glass leaves her skin.
It still hurts but she laughs at the boy's amazement. So many things hurt (Japan's occupations, America's invasion, the look in her brother's face as he rejects her) but this, this she owns.
“Cut deeper,” she orders and somewhere between ecstasy and terror, he does.
“You need to eat more,” adult Kim Jong-il says and offers her more hamburger. A chef specially imported from somewhere made if for them. North pokes on it and feels disgusted. She wants, no needs, something but she can't express it in words, it's nothing more than a vague feeling of incompletion. She has been told it's because her country is divided by the imperialistic powers and it makes so much sense she forces herself to believe it.
Without a word she offers her neck and he cuts into it. She can feel very little blood sips out but the wound stays open.
“Please,” her beloved boss begs. “I'll get you anything you want, just name it.”
“You better,” North warns, taking a small bite. She doesn't like the taste. “Maybe I feel better if you built me something new and pretty. It's ugly here.”
And they build things and improve the army to protect her but North is so hungry and she still doesn't bleed and heal the way she used to and she wonders if Kim Il-sung would hate her if he knew. When they had each other they were perfect.
For Kim Jong-un she cuts into her ribs, breaking them open and the pain is blinding and for one pathetic moment she wishes he would feel the same horror his grandfather did and tell her to stop but he doesn't and she goes on.
She looks at her own heart, remembering Russia's which sometimes falls out. Maybe this is normal after all. As she and Kim decide there is nothing wrong with it she puts it back. They should go through every part of her to find out which one is defect, why their nuclear program doesn't go quite as well as expected, why their satellite crashed and why nothing turned out as she was promised.
It makes perfect sense as she suggests it but she chokes on her own words. In the entire room, filled with her politicians and generals, everyone who should look out for her and protect her, no one voices a single word of disagreement.
The beauty of fanaticism
The first time North Korea shots herself in the head is on a joking dare from her boss, a late night of black humor where he expresses disbelief of her immortality.
North clutches her gun hard, it feels too big for her small hands and she feels much older than she looks.
“Watch me,” she says. “Korea is forever.”
Then she shoots and even though China had told her about surviving even worse wounds he never told her it hurts.
Still, North is glad she did it. If she hadn't, Kim Il-sung would never have understood their combined strength. She is everything to him and he everything to her.
For a brief while she and his son are in the same age, playing in a military bunker and North smiles a distant smile, thinking about the games the played only a few days earlier as she offers him her arm and he cuts, staring in fascination as she heals only moments after the glass leaves her skin.
It still hurts but she laughs at the boy's amazement. So many things hurt (Japan's occupations, America's invasion, the look in her brother's face as he rejects her) but this, this she owns.
“Cut deeper,” she orders and somewhere between ecstasy and terror, he does.
“You need to eat more,” adult Kim Jong-il says and offers her more hamburger. A chef specially imported from somewhere made if for them. North pokes on it and feels disgusted. She wants, no needs, something but she can't express it in words, it's nothing more than a vague feeling of incompletion. She has been told it's because her country is divided by the imperialistic powers and it makes so much sense she forces herself to believe it.
Without a word she offers her neck and he cuts into it. She can feel very little blood sips out but the wound stays open.
“Please,” her beloved boss begs. “I'll get you anything you want, just name it.”
“You better,” North warns, taking a small bite. She doesn't like the taste. “Maybe I feel better if you built me something new and pretty. It's ugly here.”
And they build things and improve the army to protect her but North is so hungry and she still doesn't bleed and heal the way she used to and she wonders if Kim Il-sung would hate her if he knew. When they had each other they were perfect.
For Kim Jong-un she cuts into her ribs, breaking them open and the pain is blinding and for one pathetic moment she wishes he would feel the same horror his grandfather did and tell her to stop but he doesn't and she goes on.
She looks at her own heart, remembering Russia's which sometimes falls out. Maybe this is normal after all. As she and Kim decide there is nothing wrong with it she puts it back. They should go through every part of her to find out which one is defect, why their nuclear program doesn't go quite as well as expected, why their satellite crashed and why nothing turned out as she was promised.
It makes perfect sense as she suggests it but she chokes on her own words. In the entire room, filled with her politicians and generals, everyone who should look out for her and protect her, no one voices a single word of disagreement.