Prisoner 42
In a Dark Cold North Korean Prison
Your name is the first thing they take.
Then they take your freedom.
They take your health.
They take away the presence of other people.
They take your clothes.
And your hair.
And finally, they take away the daylight.
Drip by drip, like a faucet slowly running dry, you’re left with nothing but your own
mind and body—and both of those will eventually be stamped out by this place.
My name is Prisoner 42
Every morning at 8 am, they call for “42.” When I stand up, I’m not allowed to look at the guards.
I have to get up, put my hands behind my back and follow them to the interrogation room. I can see
the shadows of the guards, but I’m careful to never appear as though I’m looking at them.
Even though the same thing happens every day, each day, I am still so afraid. Each time they call out
for “42,” they beat and kick me. It hurts the most when they hit my ears. My ears ring for hours—sometimes days.
But for now, at least I’m alive.
All I can do is pray. Pray and sing in my heart. Never out loud, only in my heart. I sing a song I wrote in my head:
My heart longs for my Father in this prison
Although the road to truth is steep and narrow
A bright future will be revealed when I continue
Without faith, calamity will strike in this road
Allow me to go forth toward the fortress
Although there may be much grief and complications
How could I follow in the footsteps of my God?
With tears my heart longs for my Father in this prison
Father, please accept this sinful daughter
Please protect me in Your mountain fortress and under Your shield
Take me under Your wings of peace
Father’s voice that comes from the sky
Guide me to Your blessings daily
It’s been a year now. I don’t know how long I will survive. One day, they will call me and I won’t move.
I will have died in here, in the dark. They will dispose of my body and the first new prisoner who comes
in will take my prison clothes and become the new Prisoner 42 and will wear my clothes.
Will they survive this hell?
Will they be bruised in the same places I’m bruised?
Will they cry out to God—the only One who seems to see what’s happening to us in here?
Will they die here, like me?
~Prisoner 42
North Korea
This version of Prisoner 42 has been circulating on the internet for many years. But with my passion for the
persecuted Christians in North Korea, I wanted to know if the story was true and if she made it out alive.
I started a search and found my answer at Open Doors. I would highly recommend that you check it out and while
you're there check them out. They do such wonderful things for our persecuted brothers and sisters in Christ
all over the world. You will be Blessed.
Wise Words
I beg you be persuaded that no one would be more zealous than myself
to establish effectual barriers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny, and
every species of religious persecution.
~George Washington
