#a 15 min animation has me in tears and shambles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wrathandlight-blog · 8 years ago

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● Short bio: Ri Hyung Soo

Born with the Korean Empire in 1897 - Older twin, and the one who was always in charge when they were children - Lost his memory during the Korean War, and never recovered any of it - Is usually polite, albeit cold with strangers - Prone to violence, against himself and everyone. Quite paranoid - Seems to hesitate between raising his voice against his leaders and silence

● Details:

Age | 16-17

Nickname / Alias | Lee Ye Jun (when he travels with his fake South Korean passeport. Doesn’t use the name outside of customs usually) / Wrath (Spy/Assassin alias)

Birthday | August 15th as his 'real' birthday and September 9th as the official one

Residence | Rason, North Korea

Height | 5'6 / 168 cm

Weight | 50 kg

Handedness | Left handed

Tattoos / Marks | Scars all over his hands, mostly from cuts. Another one on the side of his head, hidden under his hair, caused by a bomb. Also he has a tattoo on the side of his stomach with a standard government approved sentence.

Education | Finished North Korea’s compulsory school system

Actual job | No stable job right now

Sexuality | Asexual/Romantic orientation unknown

Favorite weapon | A switchblade, although he has two beloved knives he got a long time ago from someone important. Daggers are also acceptable.

Phobias / Fears | Drowning, forgetting, being a traitor.

Bad Habits / Vices | Smoking, did opium at some point, various drugs in the past.

Quirks | Checking his food before eating it to ensure it's not poisoned, biting his hands often, or using his knives on them. Will move away if touched.

Style of Speech | Polite, short but direct sentences.

Other | Can play various musical instruments well, the guitar being his favorite. He is quite knowledgeable about music.

● Personality:

At one point or another, people break. Humans, I mean. Nations are meant to be more resilient, able to endure crack after crack without ever ending in shambles. A blatant lie, without a doubt. I experienced forgetting my own mind once, getting everything wiped away by greed and capitalism. Some would call such experience a war, and perhaps it was one. I wonder when it's supposed to end, for the pounding in my head to stop. The world has decided my existence is a bother, an example to keep other nations in check. Born before the Korean War, I would not be able to narrate the blood covering everything in sight as my people fought among themselves. A violent attack left me akin to a blank page, on a hospital bed in a room without a window. Memories I will never recover. They allow me to believe in what is written on every wall, escaping every lips I encounter.

You cannot protect anything by always defending yourself. If we do not show we're here, no one will ever listen. Violent, often called cruel, I do not mind taunting my enemies and attacking first. Such is the North Korean way of existing. The ones who do not fight do not deserve much. The weak will be lead to believe in a paradise, a greater place without harm, only to forget where they come from and their families. I do have a brother, and he will always bear such title. Do not try to put us against each other. Min Hwan and I will always be twins, non-identical siblings who are encouraged to loathe the other. While I have no intention to forgive and forget and cry and lower my guard, he is my sibling, and I will shield him if necessary.

My blade is sharper than my words. Polite, unwilling to swear or threaten authority figures, I have not adapted so well to technology in general, and the smartphone my brother gave to me was shattered, thrown off a building without any regret. North Korea is my home, my safe place, no matter how many times I've avoided the truth happening around me. As long as my people remain alive, that some are still here, I will exist. And if we are wiped out by our enemies, then I will gladly take everyone to hell with my own hands. Religion is not mandatory, in a place where a puppeteer is always watching our steps, ensuring we do not leave the line. Critical thinking will result in more brutality, and punishments no one should bear. I cannot represent kindness, as its meaning escape me. Nonetheless, I have no intention to damage my beloved people.

I do not live in Pyongyang, where only the ones who deserve care are. My steps, and trains, take me everywhere and nowhere. I travel into our smaller towns or village. A preacher's quest, even if I am not trying to convert anyone. I'm self-destructive, violent against myself with my blade and my teeth. Covered in marks which heal too fast, I cannot recall a day in my life where I could stand perfectly still for hours without thinking about removing my fingernails one by one. This cruelty, a mindless one, is my way to fight myself, to ensure I will not break and disappear. My nights are rarely peaceful, no matter how hard I work. My sleep is fragile, and I wake up at any noise, fingers already around my knife or dagger, depending on what I have with me.

As a fighter, I am a proud member of my army, although I do not work with fellow soldiers as often as I used to be. When I trained them, I was careless, causing injuries without noticing until I heard the sound of bones breaking. It's a comforting thing, to be stronger than my opponent. I do not enjoy to stop when I should, pushing myself too far instead. I loathe guns, too heavy, and difficult to use. Fighting bare handed is more convenient, or with a blade. My eyesight is not perfect from afar, although it's not something I've truly pondered over, considering I enjoy to be close to attack. The bomb who caused me a scar under my hair surely caused this too. A permanent reminder of a childhood I lost without even knowing it.

Some would claim I am trapped, brainwashed once again, and forgetting the days where I believed in change. I had not taken in consideration that I experienced too much, without my people getting anything from it. Supporting strangers who speak my language but in the wrong way is disgusting. Yet, I am unsure of being able to understand guilt in itself. The concept would meant weeping over my mistakes, rather than ignoring them and moving on. I will keep on destroying everything around me over and over, until nothing is left anyway. So why should I stop and turn around to stare at the crime scene?

Self-harm comes in many forms, or so my brother claim. Opium, cigarettes, I've done it all, filling my veins and lungs with lies and smoke. Nowadays, only cigarettes are left. Another wrong habit, one who will not kill me. A child should not smoke, you say? Neither should he be starved or mutilated. Sanity is a feeble thing, one I struggle to reach. Being plagued by memories and rejection had turned my heart cold before I was even born. I am North Korea, and I will never be Korea as a whole. Never again, as I do not believe in reunification. What would our people say anyway? They do not know each other any longer. And foreigners around are not a necessity.

I do appreciate their music however. No matter which country it comes from. Instruments are above humans, and a melody can express more than the more sophisticated words. I am talented at some of them, I suppose, through years of practice. Although I adore music mostly because no one is forcing me to play, or to achieve perfection. It's merely a childish dream, a way to bring something brighter into my world. Just as I do when I make paper stars instead of going to bed at night. I owned a violin, and offered it to a child who probably sold it or used it to make a warm fire, and a guitar, broken by my brother. The violin was a foolish pick on my part, as I never mastered it. In fact, the sounds which came out were mediocre, unlike the guitar I understood with my eyes closed. While I abide by the rules, mostly by that point, music is something I carry everywhere, sharing it with my people to mask the screams into the night. A shame my voice is too rough and aggressive for me to sing.

Have I ever played for outsiders? Yes, I did. Friends are not something I desire any longer. Having been betrayed and used by everyone made me cold to affection. Or perhaps I never understood it at all. I miss the Soviet Union, when people trusted my growth and listened to my words. Nowadays, my government pushes me aside a little more every day. I cannot truly blame them, not for this, but I can for other things, considering the constant state of betrayal I used to be in. Once, I believed myself to be able to love, only to realize I had been tricked by legends and dreams. I could only cause damage to this person, hurting him until I opted to flee and never return. My brother got mad about it, calling me a fool, and an idiot. As if he wasn't the same way.

This person… Now I have no intention on meeting him once more, or to face my childishness. I tear apart everything I touch. Who would want such constant violence around them until they suffocate? By that point, I do not intend on leaving my country any longer. Except if I am forced to. A short teenager used as a representative of the most dangerous place in the world. Perhaps there is irony in this situation. I am not able to tell. To be honest, I've never felt bright.

Therefore, I would rather be around the ones who are mine, and support them. I do not mind healing injured animals who bite me with all their might, or wrapping up missing limbs when work goes wrong or there is another tragic flood. Food can be secondary for me, as long as a child is able to get up the next day. Oh, before I had a pet. He was a present from a foreign boy. A soft rabbit, who got named after a musician… My brother cares for him now. I do not have the time any longer.

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