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A collection of untold stories.


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#1 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 24 March 2016 - 09:07 PM

I like to think of myself as an aspiring writer, so here goes :) Any and all criticism is welcome in any shape degree or form. 

 

This first one is a tale of alternate history. It tells the story of a Pakistani Hindu from a village about 500 km from Karachi as she grows up in a world defined by an alternative history in which Pakistan has lost the 1998 war with India and the Pakistani administered area of the Kashmir region had been annexed by India. It explores her journey throughout South Asia, the middle east, and finally to Europe. Warning subject material may get dark, so feel free to let me know if I should delete it. 

 

The Untold Story 1: 

 

Chapter 1: 

 

I began walking faster. It was because they were staring at me. The boys were always looking at me, staring at my exposed face. I drew a lot of attention for not wearing a Hijab, you see. Too much when I was younger. They teased me in school for being an "idol worshipper." Laughed at me after Diwali, and Holy, and every other chance they could get. It hurt me, more than you could imagine. Although I would never realize, it hurt my parents even more, the feeling of powerlessness of being unable to protect their daughter from all the bullying. The day I first learned in history class about the creation of Pakistan, and how our people had been oppressed by the evil backwards Hindus had been a real eye opener. After class that day, I was followed home and kicked into the dirt by a group of girls. I ran home with tears and blood rolling down my face, mixing together dripping into my mouth. I even remember the salty taste on my lips. My father hugged me and told me that he wanted to flee one day. That he wanted to take my mother and me to a better place, where we would be treated as human beings, and with dignity and respect. Little did I know that that day would never come. 

 

I walked faster and faster until I outran them. This wasn't an anomaly, it happened often. Even my own friends were afraid to stand up for me. It wasn't fashionable or publicly acceptable to stand up for me, you see. That's not to say that Papa had no friends, there were plenty of great people who treated us like neighbors, like family. Invited us to celebrate eid with them. My best friend was Muslim, she once came with me to the temple to learn more. But she lived in a completely different world. She didn't know what it was like to have no home, for your own people to consider you an enemy of the state. These are feelings I kept to myself. My best friend was someone that I saw as a Pakistani, but I didn't know what to call myself. My country's identity was defined with me as the enemy. I was considered a member of the country across the Radcliffe line. Of course, until that point, it was merely a naive understanding. Because I didn't truly understand the implications until that night, when I was 10 feet from my house. 

 

I walked towards my house. It was build of wood, the lock on it had broke, and the door was open. I saw my mother, sweeping the floor of the house as I got closer. She was wearing an orange Sari. Her grayed hair had been let down. I called out to her in Urdu, but that sound was drowned out by a Black van pulling up behind me. I turned around and gasped as the door opened, and a man wearing a ski mask jumped out. One put his hand around my mouth and dragged me into the van. The last thing I heard was my mother screaming "Swathi!!!!!!!!" before the door slammed shut and the van began moving away. 


Edited by AlphaTakoyaki, 25 March 2016 - 11:37 PM.

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 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

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#2 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 25 March 2016 - 12:39 AM

My next story is a story about a North Korean defector that travels through China and is eventually repatriated into South Korea. It follows his story as he struggles to adapt to life in the new society. 

 

The Untold Story 2:

 

Chapter 1: 

 

That feeling of empty-ness rang again throughout my chest. The empty-ness that told me I had no real comrades around me. The guards seemed like they had them, other guards in uniform, but that too was fake. You couldn't trust anyone. No one knew who was going to rat you out to the guards. And so I just ate the food that was snuck in myself. Slowly, and quietly, as to not attract the attention of the guards. Meanwhile, i kept going through the fields, plowing at the soil, over and over again. For that is what I had been doing for the past two years. I hadn't seen noona during the entire time, for it was forbidden for family members to come and visit the labor camps. Three generations of my family were also going to end up here, plowing and plowing for our supreme leader's glory. What was my evil sin, you ask? Learning the truth about our supreme leader and not standing for it. 

 

There was always talk. Appa had told us when we were children, that if the supreme leader was so great, that we wouldn't be starving. The famine wouldn't make us so weak that we couldn't leave the house. I remember eomma crying one day, because of how hungry she was. But she never let noona and I be hungry, never. Even if she had to starve herself. In schools we were always taught about the greatness of our supreme leader. How the evil Americans and South Koreans and their democracy were responsible for our famine. I always believed it, after all everyone else did. When we saw videos of how our supreme leader valiantly leads our nation and gives us what little we had, I was in awe, like every other kid. But there was that inkling of reality, that always existed as a doubt in the back of my mind. A doubt that was planted when my next door neighbor was taken away from his home by the police. His crime was speaking out about our supreme leader. Mr. Park had always been such a nice man to me and noona, how could he be so evil like the police had said? It was shortly after that father had told me about the black markets. Where illegal things were sold. He had heard from it from Mr. Park. Since the police never came for father, I guess he was never caught. 

 

Over time father would buy us more and more food on the black market. Noona and I were happier; mainly because eomma did not have to starve herself as often anymore. Soon I learned there were other things, like DVD players and Ipods and laptop computers. There was no internet, but I could buy South Korean pop music from these markets. It was the first time hearing something so happy other than the supreme leader's announcements on state controlled television channels. Eventually I bought a movie and watched it on my laptop, it was a documentary smuggled in. It was a real eye opener and changed my life. 

 

We had been taught to look out for propaganda from other nations, but I simply could not believe this was propaganda, no matter how much I had been trained. I suppose the seedlings of doubt had matured into a rebellious carnivorous plant. Through this lens I witnessed real life footage of South Korean cities. How big the buildings were, how clean the streets were. How healthy the people looked, how bright their skin was shining. I was mystified. How could their evil democracy produce such prosperity? But then the next part came, when they criticized the supreme leader, and told us about how he was a liar, and was starving the people, and could feed them but chose not to because of the military first policy and his own personal greed. I was infuriated, I didn't finish the movie, I felt like going outside and screaming. I'm sure my friends who watched it with me did as well. But I remembered Mr. park, and decided not to. That is, until they came for Appa. 

 

It was two years ago, the police came to our house, to take away appa. Apparently, they knew he had been buying goods in the Black market that was outside of the state's control. I was at home, 16 years old, having just gotten home from school a few hours previous. It was dinner time when they kicked in the door and put him in handcuffs. Everything flashed before my eyes, all the betrayal, all the lies, all the suffering that eomma went through, and how they were going to destroy my family now, and I punched one of them in the face. I was shot twice, and I was arrested as well. The last thing I remember about my own family was the screaming from eomma and noona and appa, as I was dragged into a different truck than appa. I was subsequently brought before a court, and faced a judge surrounded by military police. I was sentenced to 8 years of hard labor.

 

That is where I have been since, and that is where I am know, chewing on stale bread smuggled into the camp through the black market connections, as I plowed on and on. 


Edited by AlphaTakoyaki, 25 March 2016 - 11:48 PM.

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rsz_1628998055.jpg

 

 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 


#3 RhyssaFireheart

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Posted 25 March 2016 - 08:03 AM

Chapter 1 was a good teaser, I like it so far.  Do you have a name for the story yet?  Might be easiest to tag the chapters by story if you're going to post multiple stories in this thread.


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#4 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 25 March 2016 - 12:45 PM

Glad ya liked it! So far I haven't thought of a name yet, ill have one by the time i upload the chapter for the second story though in order to differentiate them.

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 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 


#5 GintaMan

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Posted 30 March 2016 - 10:48 AM

I like the tinge of politics in these works, though they would normally require some more fleshing of details and more research to balance it out a bit and not sound like a propaganda for one side only. So far, I'm liking them. 


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#6 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 30 March 2016 - 02:14 PM

I like the tinge of politics in these works, though they would normally require some more fleshing of details and more research to balance it out a bit and not sound like a propaganda for one side only. So far, I'm liking them. 

Thanks for the input, they'll go into more detail as the story goes on that balances out the propaganda from the other side as well. 


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 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 


#7 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 30 March 2016 - 02:47 PM

The Untold Story 1

 

Chapter 2: 

 

The van shuddered to a stop after about two hours. At least I thought it was that long. In the van i was blindfolded and couldn't see anything. I couldn't tell where it was turning or when. I tried to keep track but I got dizzy and lost count. This was after I had stopped screaming and crying of course. I was gripped with fear for a while, I couldn't think straight. It was all so sudden, one minute I thought I was going to walk into my house and see my mother as usual, the next I'm being hurled into a van. The man in front of me had yelled at me to shut up and smacked me for crying. Surprisingly that helped me calm down. I didn't want to be hit anymore after a few strikes, so I got myself to stop crying, and that helped me stay focused and think. The smartest thing to do was to figure out where I was going, so I tried paying attention to turns, and listening to any sounds. Unfortunately that didn't help much. Besides, it's not like I could convey that to my parents or the police if they ever did an investigation. Most likely they would brush it off anyway, like they did the time our house and the temple were attacked by militants. As I realized that, a lump formed in my throat. I tried not to think about the reality that I would probably never see my mother or my father again. 

 

A few seconds after stopping I heard the door open. "Get out!" said the same voice that told me to shut up and hit me, and I was pushed out of the van onto the ground in front of me. Then I was picked up by my arm and guided forward. I tried screaming and struggling but I was just hit multiple times until I stopped. I felt the ground become smoother. I had stepped indoors from off of the dusty road outdoors. At this point my arm was let go off and another one soon took it. I heard two voices then start talking behind me as I was pushed forward. One said "thank you", and the other, the man from the van, said something about payment. I heard a door close behind me. At this point my arm I was dragged down a flight of stairs and thrown onto a sofa. Only then was my blindfold removed. The man in front of me was a mustached man of dark complexion. He was medium height, and was wearing a sandy shalmaar kameez. He had an angry expression on his face. I started sobbing again after the blindfold was removed, but i was told to shut up and then kicked in the face by the man. The pain was less than I had anticipated, even as blood went down my face and into my mouth. I wasn't too focused on it. I was more concerned about the situation as a whole. Because at this point did it begin to dawn on me what exactly was going on. 

 

It was like a story my mother used to tell me, about the Hindu girls that were kidnapped. Some were forced to marry their captor and convert to Islam, according to the rumors. Others were never heard from again. At this point I had begun to become numb to the fear. The man walked back up the stairs and closed the door. I ran after him and tried opening the door but it was locked. I tried banging on it, but the door then opened and the man punched me in the face and I fell down the stairs. I decided not to try again. I went back down to the bottom of the stairs and began sobbing again on the couch. 

 

Some time had passed, the sunlight from the one window had begun to dim. It was at the top of the basement and I couldn't reach it. The basement itself was small, there were a couple old boxes at the end and a treadmill.  and a salaat room at the end behind the treadmill. Nothing terribly interesting.  It was getting later at night. That's when the door opened and two men came down the stairs. One of them had a long beard as was wearing a Taqiyah and another Shalmaar kameez. the other was the man from earlier. I asked what they wanted with me, but the first man said that "I would see at the top". He had a husky voice. They brought me upstairs and took me through the house. It was a relatively small house, smaller than my own home. I was taken through a kitchen and placed on a black living room couch. It was old and worn, and looked like moths had bitten it. Yellow stuffing was coming out. In front of it was a small table, and then a stand in front had an old tv on it, plugged into the wall behind it. to the left of it was a stand with a vase and a couple books on it including a copy of the Quran. The kitchen was small, and steel dishes were on the stove and in the dish washer. I noticed a small staircase behind me and a front door which i had come in through earlier, along with a side door that I had come out of leading to the basement. The floor was tiled uniformly. I was still in shock, but had become resigned to the unknown while in the basement.

 

I heard footsteps coming down from the stairs, and a younger man appeared at the bottom. He was pretty fair complexioned and was wearing a black kurtha and and slightly longer hair, about chin length down the back of his head. It looked combed. His eyebrows were thick. As he turned, he started looking at my body up and down. I was still dressed in the same sari that I had worn to school. I wasn't sure what he was looking at. He came over and sat in the couch chair next to me and looked at me. He then asked one of the two men standing over me to get some water, and the bearded man left. He then looked me in the eye and spoke, in a crude and slightly impatient tone. 

 

"You are going to be my wife". 


Edited by AlphaTakoyaki, 30 March 2016 - 02:51 PM.

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 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 


#8 AlphaTakoyaki

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Posted 30 March 2016 - 03:34 PM

The Untold Story 2: 

 

Chapter 2: 

 

I was broken. Broken from all the labor, all beatings, all the unfairness, all the hopelessness. Seeing that video two years ago, was like discovering an alien. It completely shattered my worldview. Up until then, I had been relatively complacent with my place in life. There was nothing I could do about the famine after all. There was nothing that I could do about our neighbors being hauled off to work in concentration camps. That brief period of indignation, that period that culminated with me attacking those policemen, it was broken out of me through all the labor and all the beating. The pride that I once had, it slowly drained from me. Over those two years, i resigned myself to my fate. The will to fight back was further ground away with every beating. I had thought several times to try and get the guards to shoot me dead. Perhaps it was the thought of seeing my family again, appa, eomma and noona were probably just as broken as me. After all, they all had no idea what happened to me. I couldn't just leave this world without giving them closure. So I just died, little my little, as they ate my pride and soul. I was no longer a man, just a shadow of a human being, if there were any in this country. 

 

The day came when another woman came in. She was slightly older than me, about noona's age. She had longer hair, and double eyelids. Her face was rough and her expression empty, like she had no life left in her. As I was working in the field, plowing seeds, she was escorted in by two guards, who made her start working right next to me. They gave her a box of seeds and demonstrated what to do, then told her to start. She went through the motions and nodded to them like a ghost. There was no change in her expression at all. I turned to her and said "Hello, I'm Lee Hyun Bin, you are?" 

 

"Park Tae Hee" she responded. Her voice was flat, she didn't even make eye contact. Just continued working. "Where are you from?" I asked. "Just outside Pyongyang" she replied. I then asked "does your family know you are here?". I really wish I hadn't asked that question, but she started sobbing. First it was slow, soft, but then it became louder and harder. "hey hey just forget it" I said smiling. "I'm sorry" she said, swallowing. "sorry i asked, you don't have to talk about it" I said in a lower voice. she was silent and kept plowing the seeds, but then she said "he was killed at the border, my father, for trying to cross the Tumen river". I froze in shock. "it's punishment for the whole family for trying to escape, I wish he had never gone" I didn't know what to say, suddenly my own problems seemed almost infinitesimal, after all at least my own family was alive. Filled with guilt I kept quiet for the rest of the day. 

 

For the next week, Tae Hee noona and I continued working. I told my one camp mate, the one person I trusted to not rat me out to the guards, about her and how I thought it was very brave of her father to try to escape. if the guards had heard that, i may very well have been beaten to death that very night. During the day, we exchanged greetings in the morning, but didn't say anything. The atmosphere was awkward after our  initial encounter. After about a week, is when she told me "Hyun Bin, I feel burdened by appa's last secret, something he told me before he left, something he would have wanted me to use." 
"what is it?" I asked. "Appa knew about a second crossing point, another route and location by which his contact said he could cross. I think that my father wanted me to one day cross that point, that's why he told me about it. He drew it on a map, and I memorized it and destroyed it, one day I think I want to cross at that location and achieve freedom."


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rsz_1628998055.jpg

 

 ~In honor of Sir Theodor Herzl. 

1860-1904. 





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