Young Writers Society

I hate my Dad.

Well, I mean, he’s my Dad, I don’t hate him. Ever since Mom left, he’s the only parental person in my life. I’m obligated to love him. But the things he does sometimes are so stupid I want to just blow my brains out. He tries to be all heroic, and once he gets into that mindset, he’s the most stubborn person in the world. Let me explain.

My name is Nicole Stokes, and I’m 14, almost 15. I was born in 2007, which makes it 2020 this year. I was born in the US, but we moved to China when I was 6. I don’t remember much of my old life back in States, but I know almost every detail now. Ever since the bombs started dropping, and we had to start living in the bunker full-time, Dad told me various stories of our lives back in Virginia. They were mostly boring, but some were interesting to learn, like when I was born, when he and Mom met, when Jackson, my little brother, was born, that sort of stuff. I mean, when you’re trapped in a small, enclosed space with 2 other people, you have to find something to do to keep you from dying of sheer boredom.

Anyway, we moved to Shanghai because of Dad’s job. He’s a pretty prominent figure with the US; he’s their main ambassador to China. He told me he used to be one of the main United States Ambassadors to the United Nations. Basically, he was one of the people who represented the United States at UN meetings. He never told me much of the history of why he was fired from his UN position, but whatever. Because of his important role, we’ve always been somewhat rich. I mean, we’re not rolling in cash, but we have enough to live comfortably in one of the most expensive cities in the world. So, we’ve got more than most people.

I have, for the most part, been raised Chinese. I learned to speak English back in the US, so it was hard adjusting to a completely new and different language. I had to attend Chinese schools, so I was forced to become integrated into this new culture. I would definitely say that Jackson, adjusted to it better than I did. He was only 2 when we moved, so he has pretty much been raised completely in China. Jackson is also one of those outgoing types of people. He’s 4 years younger than me, and we’re really close. I mean, other than Dad, he’s really the only family I have. And, God forbid, if anything happened to Dad, we’d be left alone with only each other. Jackson and I are almost complete opposites: he’s outgoing and loud; I’m more quiet and introverted; he’s short; I’m tall; he has blond hair; I have brunette. The list goes on and on. Anyway, he considers his first language to be Chinese and doesn’t know English as well as I do. He’s pretty much fluent, but he still messes up occasionally. We both consider ourselves to be Chinese rather than American, but we possess elements of both cultures, which is something that I think is pretty cool. I made my way through school, maintaining solid grades. I graduated junior high with a 3.9 GPA, A’s in almost every class. I was nervous about the transition to high school, but that went smoothly. I had some great friends, and I felt as if I could take on the world, until that fateful day in September.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday in late summer, perfect for catching those last rays of sunshine before fall. My whole family was in the house. We were all chilling out when we heard the siren. The TV was on when the program changed from a cartoon Jackson was watching to a screen which had the words: “EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM”. A voice then announced that North Korea had launched an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile, an ICBM, aimed at the United States. It was assumed that the US would return fire, most likely at China as well. We were told to take shelter either in a bunker or government facilities. We were so lucky. I kid you not, a week earlier Dad had had a nuclear bomb shelter built in the backyard in case of emergency. We all just sat there for a minute, stunned at this catastrophic turn of events. Dad was the first to move; he grabbed us and told us to grab whatever we needed from the house and sprinted to the bunker. I had no idea when the bomb was going to drop, or if it was going to drop. I grabbed my laptop and my phone and hustled out to the bunker. Jackson joined us and a mere 5 minutes later I heard the explosion. It was like a thousand freight trains all roaring past at once. I have no idea what’s happening in the outside world; the last news broadcast or TV show I saw was a couple of hours after the initial blast. For the rest of the day and night that day, I occasionally heard the faint boom of an explosion. I was so thankful that Dad built that bunker when he did; we would have been screwed without it.

It’s been 4 months since we were first bound to our fates in this small cramped bunker. I really hate it. It’s so small, only about 50 square feet, and the claustrophobia is beginning to sink in. I mean, it’s a lot worse outside, but still. We have to sit in this tiny excuse of a room for God knows how long eating canned food, which, by the way, grew old by the second day. The supplies Dad stockpiled had lasted us until yesterday, perfect timing. As soon as Jackson began experiencing some minor symptoms of an illness, we run low on supplies. And if one person gets sick, we’re all going to get sick.

I’m more of a morning person, so usually, I’m the first one up in the morning. However, this morning, I saw that my father’s bed was empty. I went and checked to make sure that he wasn’t just hiding when I saw a small piece of paper which had been torn out of a book. The small note contained the words, “Nicole - Went to grab supplies. Take care of Jackson. Be back soon.” When I read the note, I nearly fainted. What in the heck was he thinking? He, along with the rest of us, has no idea what’s out there! For all we know, the world is now being run by monkeys! I checked to make sure that the “suit” was gone. The suit is a nickname we have for the radiation suit stashed in the back of the bunker. It’s sort of like a hazmat suit with a lot more bells and whistles. You open it by unzipping the back, stepping into it, and then zipping it back up, sort of like a dress. Well, I think. I haven’t worn a dress in over 5 months, and when you’re trapped in a bunker trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, remembering how to put on a dress isn’t one of your biggest concerns. Anyway, it has oxygen tanks built in so you have access to fresh, clean air without having to run the risk of breathing possibly radioactive-tainted air. The helmet can be detached by undoing some buttons and pressing an unlocking mechanism. Personally, though, I believe the coolest feature is the built-in radio set. Inside the helmet are built-in speakers and a microphone. The helmet broadcast a signal onto a random radio frequency, and whenever another suit senses a signal that is being broadcasted, it instantly connects to the frequency, allowing users of the suits to talk without having to take off their helmets, which could expose them to harmful levels of radiation.   The suit is supposed to protect you from the harmful radioactive fallout from the nuclear bombs, but I honestly don’t know how well it works. We’ve never used it before because we’ve never really had a reason, and no one wanted to try our luck if we didn’t have to. But at least Dad had enough smarts to take the suit. I doubt he's going to find any supplies; everything was most likely looted by the survivors of the initial blast. Any grub that he does find will most likely be stale, rotten, tainted by radioactive waves, or moldy. I don’t care if he gets any supplies or not, I just hope he gets back soon. I’m nervous that something might happen to him.

“Nicole, where’s Dad? Is he still sleeping?” Jackson mumbles from his blown-up air mattress he claims as his bed.

“He went out to get some more supplies,” I say soothingly, “But don’t worry. You just need to worry about feeling better. Dad will be back home soon, safe and sound.”

I can tell Jackson doesn’t really believe me. Honestly, I don’t even know if I can believe myself.

____________________

I hate my dad even more now.

I’m full of both rage and fear. It’s been a full week since I last saw him, when he chose to make the risky and somewhat necessary decision to venture out into the unknown. We ran out of supplies, but I don’t know why Dad didn’t tell us about it first. I wish he would have just asked us and we could have debated it like civilized humans. But no, Dad just had to be the courageous one who saves us all. That crap only works in movies. In real life, the guy who tries to be the hero ends up dying first. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. If Dad were to die, Jackson and I would be screwed. We’d have to survive in a post-apocalyptic world without an adult, supplies, and a radiation suit. And one out of the two of us is extremely sick. Jackson symptoms went from that of a small cold to that of a major case of a major virus. I’m concerned that he may be suffering from radiation poisoning. I remember reading a book on radiation poisoning back when the bombs first started falling. Dad was really concerned about the security of the bunker, whether or not it could protect us from radiation. He told us all about radiation sickness and its early symptoms so that we could identify if we were developing the illness. The early symptoms were minor, such as fever, fatigue, that sort of thing. The more major symptoms which took time to start affecting the host included vomiting, hair loss, and bloody stool. Jackson is exhibiting exactly these symptoms. I swear I’m going to start vomiting if Jackson doesn’t stop. The whole room smells like puke, and I’m really starting to worry. I try not to show my panic around Jackson to keep him calm, but it’s becoming harder and harder to just deny it. Jackson knows that something is seriously wrong. He’s worried, too. I wish Dad was here; he would know what to do.

I’ve begun to try and take some initiative. I found a book stacked on one of the bookshelves which was labeled, “How to Survive in a Post-Apocalyptic World.” It gave ways of how to survive in worlds affected by various disasters: Zombie Apocalypse, Aliens Attacking, and Nuclear Fallout. I read up on the nuclear fallout section, and it gave a detailed description of how to treat someone affected by radiation poisoning. I read that if a person is exposed to a certain type of radiation, the thyroid will absorb almost all of the radiation. The thyroid gland uses iodine to fuel itself as it performs its functions, such as secreting hormones. The thyroid is not able to distinguish stable, or regular, iodine from its deadly counterpart, radioactive iodine, which sometimes enters the bloodstream when someone is exposed to radiation. This overabundance of radioactive iodine in a person’s bloodstream can lead to short-term effects, such as radiation poisoning, and long-term effects, such as thyroid cancer. The book stated that the most effective way to treat this type of radiation poisoning is to give the impacted person supplements of Potassium Iodine. Potassium Iodine works by flooding the bloodstream with iodine, as it is very densely packed with iodine, preventing the radioactive iodine from being absorbed by the thyroid. I have begun to give Jackson some of these supplements, which I found after some intense scrutiny of one of the first aid kits. I don’t know how effective these supplements will be, as it has probably been a long time since Jackson was exposed to the radiation, but I’m hoping for the best. I really, really hope Dad gets back soon.

____________________

Ok, I’m screwed.

It’s been a whole 3 weeks after Dad left, and he hasn’t gotten back yet. The minuscule amounts of food and other supplies we did have before Dad left have all run out.  I don’t know what I’m going to do. Jackson has gotten a little bit better, but overall, he’s still in terrible condition. I can tell he is tremendous pain, but there’s nothing I can do. I can try to soothe his pain and keep him calm, but there’s no medicine that can cure him if he is suffering from radiation poisoning. We’re both nervous about the food situation, or lack thereof, really. I’ve been bouncing an idea back and forth in my head. Yesterday, when I was looking through every nook and cranny in this shelter for some extra food, my eyes fell upon a surprising sight. I found an extra radiation hazmat suit. My emotions were mixed: it was good in that in case Dad never returned, we could still survive going outside, but it was bad in that Dad lied to us. He never told us about this extra suit. I can’t understand why he wouldn’t. He probably just forgot. Yeah, he just forgot. He would have no reason to tell me otherwise, right? I’m sure it just slipped his mind.    The plan was for me to perhaps take the extra suit and go out, in search of both supplies and Dad: both desperately needed things. I just don’t know if I can bring myself to leave Jackson. I mean, we really need the supplies, but Jackson is so sick, and he needs my help. He needs someone to care for him, both mentally and physically. He would be there for me, so shouldn’t I be there for him. But this situation is different. I can’t help Jackson if I don't have the supplies to do it. I can’t help him if I’m sick and starving. It’s probably better if I went and searched for supplies. But… No. Jackson would want me to go look for food. I’ll leave first thing tomorrow. But I better leave a note for Jackson. He’ll understand that this trip is necessary. Hopefully my situation turns out better than Dad’s apparently did…

____________________

I took that first step out of the bunker, and I was instantly hit with a wave of overwhelming sadness, grief, and amazement. I felt like I was going to cry and explode with curiosity at the same time. Looking at my surroundings, I was astonished by the total devastation of everything around me. My house and, from the look of it, the entire city was flattened. I mean, there were still some structures standing, but everything was in a complete state of disarray. It looked like your stereotypical post-apocalyptic dystopia. I was overwhelmed by sadness, knowing how beautiful this city used to be. Shanghai was a symbol of wealth and new beginnings. It was truly the city of the future. It was a city that marked humanity’s step into a new era, full of technological advances as a species. Now, the wonderful, sensational city has been reduced to that of ruins. If humans got along better, we as a society could be so much more advanced. But we just can’t stop fighting. I pictured in my head all of the beautiful wildlife that I have seen in my life. It’s almost all dead. Every plant, animal, and living organism that once lived on earth, minus a few lucky humans and other animals, is dead. This sadness and grief crippled me. I couldn't move or think; all I could think was how the everything was destroyed. I must’ve sat there for hours, just staring at the destruction that surrounded me. Everything was gone. I couldn’t imagine what would have happened to us if Dad hadn’t built that shelter. I didn’t know what to do or how to cope.

The next thing I remember was hearing the sound of wind blowing through the remains of our house. It sounded of creaks, where the wind disturbed the quiet nature of the rusty, dilapidated ruins. I sat up and inspected my surroundings. The sun was just rising. I figured that I must have fallen asleep without even realizing. I then remembered the grief and despair I had felt the day before, and I told myself that I was going to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m not going to help anybody by crying on the ground. I set my mind on my mission and told myself that nothing was going to deter me from my goal. I set off on my journey for supplies, carefully remembering which direction I was going in order to successfully be able to backtrack once I had found supplies. I hiked through dead trees and ruined buildings for a solid 5 or 6 hours before I let myself give in to the acute hunger and thirst that I had ignored for the entire day. I had found a house which seemed to have survived the nukes pretty well; 3 out of the 4 walls were still standing. I rummaged through the garbage piled up and found a bedroom with a full-sized bed. I had found adequate shelter; however, I still needed some nourishment or else there was no way I was going to make it the next day. I found a fridge flipped on its side, and, testing my luck, opened it. I found 5 bottles of water. I was overjoyed. It wasn’t food, but the human body can survive for much longer without food than it can without water. I had found shelter and water, now it was time for some rest. I easily fell asleep, exhausted by the day’s events.

I woke up in the middle of the night, startled to hear a rummaging sound coming from outside the house. “What was that noise?” I quickly said out loud, surprised that my voice seemed so loud in the screaming silence that surrounded me. I heard the rustling of dead leaves and bushes as a dark shadow began to emerge from beyond the house. I prayed that it was just a wild animal, looking for some food. However, it was much more likely that it was a human. I quickly searched for any sort of weapon in the room and found a baseball bat propped up against a door leading to a bathroom. I hopped out of bed, grabbed the bat, and slowly walked towards the sound.

I screamed, “Who goes there?!”

Instantly a person, about 6 feet tall, popped out from beneath the piles of garbage. We both screamed out of fear, before the person yelled, “I mean no harm! Stop!”

I calmly put down the bat and observed the man in front of me. He looked to be about my age, perhaps a bit older. He was unshaven and rough looking, but I mean, living in a post-nuclear apocalyptic society will do that to you. He looked strong, but not too strong, like he was the kind of guy who, back before all the bombs started dropping, would go to the gym every once in a while. He didn’t look Asian or Chinese, he looked American, like me. This was rather surprising.

“Who are you?” I asked, curiously, “And what are you doing here?”

“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said, “I’m Sam. I was living in a shelter about 2 miles from here with my family, but we ran out of supplies. I’m looking for some. What about you?”

I could tell he was holding information back. My dad always told me that I have deadly accurate intuition; I can tell if someone is lying. I cautiously proceeded, “Well, My name’s Nicole, and…”

“Wait!” Sam exclaimed, “Are you Nicole Stokes?”

“Um, yeah,” I confirmed, confused, “How do you know who I am?”

“I was traveling with your Dad for part of my journey!”

“What?!” I asked excitedly, “You’ve seen my Dad?”

“Yeah!” Sam said enthusiastically, “I traveled with him for a couple of miles on my way here. He’s a pretty nice guy.”

“I came on this journey to look for him! Where did you see him? Where should I go to find him?” I asked.

“I saw him about a mile that way,” Sam said as he pointed towards the almost-rising sun, “Head east and you should at least find a trace of him.”

“Thank you so much!” I said vigorously. My first real clue! I was so excited. I began to head that way when Sam stopped me.

“Wait, I have something for you,” he said, “Your dad dropped this when we were walking together. He didn’t seem to notice, and I planned to give it back to him, but I forgot. I guess it’s okay to give it to you, I mean, it’s the same family.

Sam stuck out his hand, which enclosed a crumpled-up piece of loose-leaf paper. I grabbed it from his hand and stuck it in my pocket.

“Best of luck to you,” Sam said, “I hope you find your Dad.”

“Thanks,” I replied, and started the arduous trek towards the unknown.

____________________

I can’t believe all of that adventure happened in only two days. I’m currently laying in a bed, in the middle of a house, in the middle of nowhere. After I began my trek, it became obvious that finding Dad was going to be harder than I thought. After walking for what I estimated to be a mile and looking all day for even the tiniest trace of my Dad’s existence, I came to the terms that this may take a long time. I changed my mission to finding shelter for the night. I found a house with a bed, and that was good enough for me. Problem is, now I can’t fall asleep. All of the adventures that I have had in the last two days are finally catching up with me. I can’t stop replaying the scenes over and over again in my head: Running into Sam, taking the first step out of the bunker. I’m also really worried about Jackson. I hope he’s managing all right with the limited supplies he has access to. Wait! In all this excitement, I completely forgot to find out what Dad’s piece of paper said! I quickly searched the room for some light source, like a battery-powered flashlight. Just my luck, I found exactly that. I flicked it on and shined it on the paper. I saw bold letters on the top in all capital letters: JOURNAL ENTRY #27. I read the page, taking in every word.

“No,” I whisper to myself, “It can’t be!”

My vision starts to fade as I feel myself begin to slip into unconsciousness. Dark spots flood my vision, and my legs feel like jelly. I begin to fall as everything goes dark. My head slams onto the hard, concrete floor, but I feel nothing.

“No…” I whisper hoarsely, “How could you, Dad?”

____________________

I always knew there was something off about Dad.

I’ve always had deadly accurate intuition, according to him.

Why would he decide to build the nuclear bomb shelter at the exact time he did?

Why else would he refrain from telling us about the extra radiation suit he had stored?

I just thought it was all a misconception. He just was lucky, planning to build the shelter at the exact right time. He had just forgotten about the extra suit. He was going to tell us, he just forgot. I’m disgusted by how naive I was. I always knew in the back of my mind something was off, but I could never bring myself to confront it. I wanted him to be a good guy, so I made him one in my brain. After all, he’s my father. But after reading that journal entry, I’m abhorred to call him my father. He’s a sick man. I’m glad I did what I did. I had to do it.

I woke up from my comatose-like state. I couldn’t remember anything. I was confused as to where I was and how I got there. I guess that bump on the head did me in. Anyway, I observed my surroundings and found that I was in a house, next to a bed. My eyes spied a crumpled up piece of paper, and everything came rushing back. I remembered what had happened. I remembered my trek through the wilderness, my meeting with Sam, and the journal entry my father had written. When I remembered the words on that paper, I couldn’t help myself. I undid the buttons connecting the helmet to my suit, and undid the locking mechanism, not giving a care to the radiation that could have been infecting me. I threw up. Over and over again. I couldn’t believe that the man I had come to love and trust would do such a thing. I must’ve sat there for hours, trying to keep myself from vomiting. Every time I thought I had finished, another onset came on. Next thing I knew, it was nighttime. I wasn’t tired; I had just woken up from my “nap.” Anyways, there was no way I could sleep there anymore, the entire room and house smelled of bile. The problem was, I had no clue where to go. I knew that there was no way I was going to keep on searching for the monster that I call my father. I had to recall the direction of the bunker, but that bump on the head really got to me. I couldn’t remember anything. I probably got a concussion. I couldn’t think straight. I began to just wander around aimlessly through the dark forest which surrounded the house. I just drifted through the breezy, cool forest, my mind drifting off into oblivion. I just kept walking, completely and totally in a daze, until I was jolted back to my senses. I saw smoke quietly rising above the trees about a quarter of a mile away. I was torn on what to do. Do I risk going and meeting whoever has a fire, hoping that they have supplies that I could borrow? After all, at this point, I was starved. All of the food I had had in my stomach was now gone. Or, do I play it safe and return to my temporary shelter? Under normal circumstances, I most definitely would have returned to the house, but like I said, I wasn’t really with it. I decided to head towards the fire, and hope that the person there wasn’t a crazy murderer or some crap like that. As I approached the fire, I at least had the mental capacity to remember to advance stealthily. As I neared closer and closer to the campsite, I noticed that the inferno was almost dead; it was giving off a lot of smoke as it burned through the last bits of log. As I looked around the desolate site, my eyes caught sight of a small tent. I approached it silently, in case whoever was occupying the tent was still awake and/or alive. I peeked through the half-opened door of the tiny tent, I caught sight of a face. I instantly fell backward as recognition flooded my brain. It was my Dad! I was overcome by a rush of anger as I peeked around the tent even more. He had stockpiles of supplies on the far side of his tent! He wasn’t trying to find supplies! He was trying to abandon Jackson and me! At that moment, I couldn’t say what came over me. I don’t know if it was anger, grief, or sadness, but it was very powerful. It was as if my body had taken control of me; I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed the gun that was lying beside my Dad’s unconscious body and pointed it at him. I pulled the trigger. Then again. And again. And again. I couldn't stop myself. It was as if all the anger that I had built up over my life was released. I didn’t stop until I was sure he was dead. Then, I broke down in tears. I couldn’t stop. I released every emotion that I had felt since the bombs had started dropping. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I pulled out the journal entry and hugged it close. Sure, it told me that my Dad was a terrifying villain, but it was the only thing that I could keep to remind me of him. And now, let me read to you from this journal entry:

Journal Entry #27 - 9-15-2020

It’s less than a week until Kim will fire those missiles. He advised me to build a nuclear fallout shelter, which I did. Whatever. It’s only going to be temporary. After four months, when the area outside the shelter will be stable enough to risk exiting the shelter, I can leave. That’s why I only stored four months’ worth of supplies in the shelter. After that period of time, which I assume is going to feel like forever in that cramped shelter, Kim and I can meet up, and create a new nation from the rubble of the destroyed world. We will create an empire, dominating the entire world. All people still alive will bow to us as their rulers. Civilizations in the future will be amazed by Kim and I’s craftiness. By initiating nuclear war, Kim could substantially lower the Earth’s population, making it much easier to conquer the ends of the Earth and establish a new empire, in which he and I shall rule. We shall be unstoppable. Kim told me that we shall meet in the current city of Beijing to plan our siege. Kim saved most of his army in underground shelters, and preserved his naval fleet in secret underground pools, so we will have an army to conquer the world and ships to sail the world. After those four months, I’m going to have to leave the kids behind in the shelter. They’ll soon run out supplies, and that small, cramped shelter will become their final resting place. Nothing and nobody will stand in the way of our empire! Kim-Jong Un and I will dominate all!

-Corey Stokes

____________________

I was so bewildered by the whole situation. I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. It was hard to internalize it. My father had started World War III. My father directly led to the end of the world. It was so hard to come to terms with the fact that the man I had come to love and adore was such a horrible person. My brain was kicking into overdrive, my body triggering my flight-or-flight response. I’ve had a few panic attacks in my life, but that was the worst I have ever had. I remembered some tricks I had learned about anxiety. I sat down and took deep breaths. I tried to clear my mind.

“Everything's going to be fine. You’re safe,” I told myself over and over again.

Eventually I calmed myself down. However, I began to wonder, “How in the heck did someone as insignificant as my Dad be able to become chummy with the leader of an entire nation? Kim Jong Un is a pretty influential guy. I mean, my Dad has a pretty high-profile job, but still in all.”

I thought that he might have his entire journal with him. After all, he had dropped a page, which probably meant that it fell out of his journal. I began to scour my Dad’s excuse for a campsite, looking for anything that would resemble a journal. I searched in his bag, under his makeshift pillow, near the fire, but I couldn’t find even the slightest trace of it. Then, I had a realization. It was probably still on him, in his pocket or something like that. I really didn’t want to go near him. I mean, I knew it was the right thing to do, killing him in all, but it was really hard to go near him and see the man who raised me dead. I finally convinced myself to look. I neared the bloody corpse and began to pat it down. I felt a slight bulge in one of the front pockets of the pants and stuck my hand in. Success! It was the journal. I took a log from near the campfire and tossed it into the dying fire. I was going to need some light to read this. I wanted answers. ASAP.

____________________

I shouldn’t have done it.

I knew I wasn’t going to find anything good, but I had to do it.

I still shouldn’t have read that journal.

The journal had an in-depth analysis of the last 3 years of my father’s life.

It all started about 2 years back. The first fifty-or-so pages of the journal were basically useless, just occasional entries about my dad’s day, blah blah blah. After that, things get interesting. He begins to talk about a new problem that has arisen at work. In short, a North Korean defector was trying to escape to China and sought the US embassy in Shanghai. Just before he was about to enter the building, he was caught by police and taken into custody. China, unlike the US, had maintained somewhat diplomatic relations with North Korea. They viewed all North Korean escapees as illegal migrants.

The embassy building has a certain munity; if an “illegal migrant” were to enter the consulate building, the police would be legally unable to enter and arrest the defector. This is where the problem arose. The legal battle that ensued centered around the question: “What does ‘inside’ really mean?” Both sides argued as to whether the escapee was inside or outside the building. It became an important case, so big that my father, being the main consulate to China, had to travel to North Korea and discuss the incident with Kim Jong-Un. Apparently, the two had become chummy during the visit, based on the change of tone of how my father talks about Kim. As the entries near closer and closer to the present, my Dad talks a lot about a “plan” he has made with Kim. I know all too well what that plan is. Kim made an agreement with my father because the two of them had allegedly become such great pals. Kim agreed that he would tell my Dad when he was planning to fire his missiles, subsequently leading to the start of nuclear annihilation. My Dad was to wait four months before he was to escape to Beijing and meet with Kim.

Well, jokes on Kim. My Dad is dead, anyhow.

So, one last time:

I hate my Dad.