Feasting in Prison (3): Time for Truth
Let's each name the three worst things in the world we can imagine, straight from our own twisted heads. I'll go first.
"When the TV's stuck on a religious channel, when you can't lie on a warm ondol floor in winter, and when codfish jerky shows up for dinner."
"Aigoo, our new guy Daesik's got a mouth on him, huh? Just eat whatever they give you."
"Even in China, where there's no personal freedom, at least they pick their own damn menus."
"Tsk! Here, I'm Xi Jinping and Mao Zedong rolled into one! No more whining about side dishes in front of me!"
If you're Xi and Mao, then I'm Lenin and Stalin. Of course, saying that outright could spark a disgusting ideological shitstorm, so I just pictured shipping the middle-aged guy next to me off to the Gulag while poking at my tray.
Digging through that tray yielded bean rice, bean sprout salad, bean sprout soup, kimchi, and—yep—codfish jerky. If it'd been bean sprout rice soup, I could've scarfed down three bowls right there without sides, but this lineup made bean sprouts repulsive for the first time in my life.
I asked the guy next to me, who was mashing his bean sprout salad, kimchi, and codfish jerky into an instant bibimbap.
"You live off this shit every day?"
"Damn right. We always give thanks for the daily bread He provides."
"No special meals? Like meat once a month?"
"Sp-special meals? Wanna change your name from Daesik to Special? If you wanna spout nonsense, go rot in solitary facing the wall."
No special meals, apparently. "What about outside food? This is prison, so personal grub should be a thing, right?"
"Heh, if you're gonna bitch about sides, why'd you end up here? Shoulda just eaten quiet and lived good outside."
"Grew up never getting what I wanted to eat."
Obsessed with food my whole life, one shitty meal and my gut revolts. But smashing bean sprouts, kimchi, and codfish jerky into bibimbap? Kinda ingenious. I gave it a shot.
Taste? Pure shit. But it also felt like special survival bibimbap—just to stay alive. In this airtight hellhole, you gotta get creative with chow to not lose your mind. Kinda respectable.
Then, a delicious smell wafted from the farthest table, opposite our end spot. Glancing over, those prisoners were chowing down on food leagues beyond our survival slop.
No specials or outside grub, my ass. "Mr. Xi—or should I say Chairman Mao? Can't keep track, so Chairman it is. What's with those assholes eating better than us?"
Chairman rolled his eyes sideways but shook his head like it was nothing. "Just eat your rice."
"How's rice going down when some get dog food and others feast like kings? My throat's on strike already."
No more illegal codfish jerky imports—get lost, it declared. Maybe sensing my mood, Chairman silently shoved survival bibimbap in his mouth.
Instinct told me: even here, hierarchies and pecking orders ruled. All of us dodging death with supernatural bullshit, yet some rank high, some low? Makes no sense.
Classic prison setup, though. Gangsters, mafiosi, psycho killers with body counts, ex-mercs or underground fighters—they claim the food chain apex. And where there are alphas, there are bottom-feeders.
So Chairman, who greeted me first and showed me to the mess, was a peon. Those guys scarfing gourmet over there? Top predators.
They all look so damn ordinary. If there'd been a jacked musclehead, it'd fit, but nah—young bucks like me, older dudes, even geezers. No standouts, no one-man-army vibes. Like a flock of meek sheep with some inexplicable pecking order.
I'd slipped in disguised as meek sheep too, but not cracking this weird vibe would keep me up all night.
How to probe? Headfirst, ram-style.
BAM!
"Hey, everyone. Han Daeri, fresh meat. Everyone else huddles up eating dog chow like pals, but you gloomy fucks are over here picking at gourmet. Made my skin crawl, so I figured, why not crash your newbie intro?"
I grabbed a chair and tray to an empty spot, then ripped a drumstick off the massive roast chicken platter right in front of me. Juicy flesh and dripping fat—seductive enough to tempt a vegan.
"Mmm, look at that grease. Koreans can't resist chicken. In the age of yangnyeom as K-food royalty, passing this up ain't Korean."
This was no puny Kyochon bird—a real fat village hen, like grannies slaughtering back in the day. Plump leg meat heaven. No sauce or salt needed; the fat alone toyed with my tongue. High-end beef in simple oil dip—who needs more? Juices and grease slid down smooth.
"If chicken was on today's menu, they'd have made sweet-and-sour instead of codshit. Stingy bastards. We're stuck here till we croak together—sharing the good stuff won't kill ya. Right?"
I tore into the drumstick big and glanced around. The quiet guy next to me grabbed a knife and jammed it into my throat, blank-faced.
Not the sharpest blade, but dead-on. I ignored it, finishing my drumstick. Chicken mattered more than steel.
"Don't get all girly over one stolen leg."
Drumsticks are sacred in Korea—I get it—but stabbing first is some maniac play.
"And your illusion game's cheap."
Ptooey. I spat my mouthful onto the plate. Should've been nasty sludge, but out came a black hairball.
"Wasn't trying to impress watchers with grandeur—just chewing hair for penance, huh?"
Ancient asceticism: soul-tempering, body-limit-breaking. We call extreme endurance "penance." Buddha's fasting's the poster child—starve to shatter limits, chase enlightenment.
Penance channels the human will to surpass the self, outdo others.
That's why they nibbled manhan jeonseok. Why huddle apart in gloom. Penance.
Me? Interruping demon or monster. Knife in throat makes sense.
"But penance ain't for petty goals—it's soul evolution toward enlightenment."
I yanked the blade from my neck and tossed it on their table. Clang. No blood. Pristine.
Humans bleed on penetration. Not us. Probably not them either.
Penance elevates your being. Purer soul drags the old flesh along. That's why it feels tacky—illusions to fool self and others into "I'm penancing" for mere immortality obsession.
"Let's see how far your fancy penance goes."
If you're all Buddhas, then from today, I'm the devil.