CHAPTER 33
There is no light in my new room. No windows. The door is completely solid, no metal bars to show me what’s happening in the corridor outside. It’s as if the universe has shrunk to an eight foot by eight foot cage, and here’s where I’ll remain, forgotten until my death.
I wish I had something with me that was mine. Grandma Lucy’s letter or even my old pair of jeans, saggy as they’d be by this point. I knew that I’d regret not reading Grandma Lucy’s Bible when I had it with me in Pyongyang.
I’ve been sitting all day, but my legs are too weak to hold me up. Every time I try to stand, I sink back down to the cold floor, leaning my back against the concrete wall. There’s nothing you can tell yourself, no prayer or curse or mantra appropriate for this kind of situation. I know mil
