Who is he? And here's what she said:

There was once a writer who had succeeded herself in delivering her thoughts. Thoughts that brought back people to their right state of mind, advises that healed them from their old debts and answers to the questions that were never asked. She was once called for an interactive session with a woman who had gone through a trauma that wounded her spirit and her genial nature. She was quite fragile to talk straight through questions and was too intricate of a task to let her respond. As the writer came to notice her fear, she wanted to take things slowly. She never questioned her or even asked her name neither did she introduce herself to the latter. Her first move was the last one that made her look into the writer’s eyes and compelled her to speak her heart out. This was what she said:

The one who speaks her sorrows will stumble at first, but she won’t remain broken. She will somehow manage to walk past by disclosing her past with the support of her beautiful cast. She then healed and took the road to light but never looked back. Because she knew, that behind her was a shadow of dark past she outcast.

The minute she listened to it, her drooped down head looked straight into the eyes of the writer. Her eyes glimmered in hope that she could get back on her feet and drive forward with courage and compassion. It was a dark room with naked walls and closed windows. As the eyes of hope wandered for a brighter view, the writer decided to pull out the curtains. That’s when she got to see her smooth olive skin soaked in droplets of sweat. That’s how deep she was drowned in fright when she saw her or anyone barging through the door.

The writer wanted to know if she found her secure and know if she could accept her help. So, as she moved further, she saw no rejection and let her come through. That’s when the writer decided to delicately ask her if she could write something on a paper. The woman neither spoke a word or gave a sign. That’s when the writer handed over a pen and a paper for her to write as she knew that she would find it hard to speak. She looked at the pen for about a minute and did something that shook the writer.

She gets up from her broken chair and slowly walks towards the toilet, opens the latch for the writer to see what’s inside. The room was no better than a crematorium while it’s toilet was the furnace. The walls were black washed with uncovered concrete. That’s all the writer overlooked. But the moment she got close towards it and moved to let the light in, she was alarmed.

The concrete were carved with broken pieces of glass and we’re tinkered to highlight the crevices. Here’s what she said:

"My soul was inside flesh and bones of another

He'd never give em back all together

He'd break and break and break

To infinity pieces of cake

But I'm just the icing while your the sponge 

Who fills everyone inside 

But the cream left out 

Unable to penetrate

So the latter let it evaporate

Evaporate into tears

Into ashes of your li'l dear

I'm no more akin to your sins 

Your just a glimpse

Neither am I sorry for this 

Not sorry that your no more my prince"

The verse literally screamt for help. The writer's eyelids were almost filled in tears as she felt it all. She felt the pain and the cruelty she'd been through. She felt the abandonment, the domination of the upper hand and affliction she faced all by herself.

The writer couldn't take it all in. The moment she was back to her normal self after reading all that agony she's put through, she rushed towards the woman and embraced her to let her feel the warmth, to let her feel secure and to let her know that no matter what, she will be there for her and protect her from all the hardships she's ever encountered.

Patting her to rest and to calm her nerves, she no more wanted to know what had happened in her life but felt the itch to ask her who did it. When she gently looked her in the eyes by creasing her small hairs, she wanted her to know that she was safe and finally held her hands and had the courage to ask:

This would be the last thing I'd ever want to know. Forgive me if I'm interrogating, But who was that bastard that did this to my precious?

She then gently replied and that was when the writer noticed her trembling voice that stuttered to say his name. she said:

He's .... He's not a Who! He's a Where!!

The writer at first didn't understand what she meant but slowly realized that she had personified someone to a place where she was tormented. And hence, she asked:

Where is that place li'l dear? Which place would be this horrendous that people are being alienated from the outside world?

The moment she replied, she was startled as she found helpless to deal with the situation that everyone knows and sees its transparency, but no one is equipped enough to stand against it. Here's what she said:

He is not just a place. He is a country. He is NORTH KOREA!!