Prison Corridor And Out Of His Ward Essay
Two officers escorted him, his battered limbs chained and a crude cattle prod loomed near his head. A few years back they’d done vulgar experiments on him, inserting some sort of chip into his head. One blast from the cattle prod and he’d spend his final days in a comatose state. Although witnessing this first-hand happen to other inmates, worse atrocities had been endured. Here in Camp 22, North Korea, the guards didn’t care about the convicts. Neither did those sadistic bastards who had been experimenting on prisoners for years.
Many people sent here hadn’t committed traditional crimes but instead were political prisoners, most opposed the ideas of the North Korean government. The population of Camp 22 consisted not only of those who had committed these “crimes” but also included their whole families. Families who were condemned to rot, to be toyed with and treated like laboratory rats.
Kwan braced himself as he got closer to the lead door at the end of the corridor. His mind fluttered away. He found dissociating himself from his environment helped with the torture he was about to suffer.
He couldn’t remember much of his life before Camp 22, but he enjoyed musing over escaping. He obsessed with playing scenarios in his mind of slaughtering the guards, Doctors, surgeons and each face…