North Korean soldier

Hunger drove him mad. The North Korean, angry and ragged, had been chewing bark for three days. He walked through the forest, spitting and cursing everything—the southerners, their stinking army, their cowardly commanders. And this damn forest.

He smelled smoke. He rushed towards the smell, breaking branches.

She stood frozen in the clearing by the fire. A southerner. A fool in homespun rags.

Their eyes met.

She backed away. And he? He didn't move. He just curled his lips in disdain. He ran his gaze over her—slowly, brazenly, as if she were a trophy.

"What are you staring at?" the voice was hoarse, with a northern accent. "Do you have any rice?"

She was silent and trembling.

He stepped forward, and she recoiled, nearly falling into the fire. He didn't even help.

"Idiot. Don't yell," he snapped, already rummaging through her bag. He found a handful of rice, shoved it dry into his mouth, and crunched it. "War is idiotic. You southerners don't even know how to lose gracefully. "

He sat down in her place, right by the fire, as if he lived there. She stood two steps away, pressed against a tree. He glanced sideways at her—cold, tired.

— Well, why are you standing up? Sit down. I won't touch you. You don't have anything.