There is a slight connection with real events but otherwise a pure fantasy; even a prettifying one.

The office walls are covered with maps and nautical charts hiding yellow wallpaper peeling at the edges. The only furniture is a large desk and chair. A man in a green uniform with many decorations is sitting at the desk while on the other side a woman in a nightdress is standing stiffly at attention. The man is jabbing his finger angrily at a pile of small squares of coarse paper covered with densely written ideograms.

"I found this in your room yesterday. Encrypted messages."

"No."

"Then what?"

Nervous and stuttering: "It's a letter to my parents."

"We would never allow you to send a letter. Explain."

"I don't know. I can't."

"You do know insubordination must be punished."

The woman steps forward and bends across the desk. The man stands up and takes off his belt. He rolls the nightgown up to reveal a bare bottom.

"Read."

"Please?"

"READ."

"'Dear Mum.'"

"WRONG!". A scream as the man lashes the woman's buttocks with the belt. "You know you have no mother."

"Please, I do remember."

"Continue reading."

"'Dear Mum and Dad.'"

"WRONG!" A second cry. "No father either."

"'I miss you both so much.'"

"LIE!" Another stroke. "How can you miss people who don't exist?"

"'I know you will never stop looking for me.'"

"Haven't I shown you the newspaper clippings?" the man brings the belt down as he says each word. "The police think you are dead. Your parents think you are dead."

"'They kidnapped me on the way to school. I didn't run away.'"

"Kidnapped! NO!" After the shriek of pain: "You are our guest here."

"'I am being held at the Intelligence College in north-east Pyongyang.'"

"Why did you give such details? Do you expect your so-called…", another lash, "…self-defence forces to rescue you?"

A shake of the head.

"If the Japanese colonialists try to come here again we will drive them into the sea."

"'They are making me train spies in our culture.'"

"Spies! A slur…", a harder stroke than before, "…on our brave young men."

"'The only other person I see is Colonel Lee. He teaches me the Juche ideology and beats me when I break their rules.'"

A grim smile: "After so many lies this is accurate."

"'I am well but often hungry.'"

"There are no shortages!". Another blow. "Don't repeat such nonsense."

"'I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you with the rice crop.'"

"Japanese farmers get many subsidies. They don't need your help." The belt whips down. "The socialist workers and peasants need your help."

"'Love from your daughter Hitomi.'"

The hardest lashes yet punctuate each word: "Not! Daughter! Anymore!". "That life is dead."

After this there is only the sound of sobbing for a minute or two. "Please, it's enough. I won't write any more letters."

The man ponders this for a moment. "One more, addressed to the Eternal President and explaining the anti-imperialist struggle and the real conditions of your life here. Then we will discuss what you have written."