The lone and wandering tiger attempted in hiding itself amongst the trees, wild plants, and long grass that grew so freely; away and far from the contamination of artificially created paths was where this predator survived.
It lived in a lush, green strip of land that was destined to never be inhabited by the people who fell to influence of power, hope, and change.
This place was stuck in a perpetually cycling time period, the time period that was filled with peace, unity, and respect between the two blood brother enemies who now pointed guns at one another and their people.
The qualities of all that was beautiful in this country had never left, decreased, or faded in this pitifully small strip of land, yet the lust for blood and revenge stayed.
Land mines that had not yet exploded still waited for its prey.
Gunshots fired by foolish men disturbed the flow of living.
Meaningless grappling matches and threats were triggered by restrictions as thin as single strands of hair.
Though it was untouched by the civilizations that grew outside the walls, the smell and sounds of the forgotten, hideous war lingered a bitter, familiar taste.
It was the taste only soldiers knew how to describe with their words.
It was the taste only the families involved and torn apart could tell you about through their tears.
It was the taste only citizens who were there to watch all of it happen understood via their thoughts.
Stretching at 160 miles and roughly two-and-one-half miles in width, the Korean Demilitarized Zone made generations contemplate its existence in wonder, amazement, and awe.
The elder ones ponder in wonderment of how this terrible separation had come to be, and if their brothers or sisters are still alive.
Their sons and daughters are filled with amazement, thanking or despising the name of whatever high being they worshiped for their predestined lives behind barbed wires and heavily-guarded posts.
Their grandchildren observe in awe the seemingly ancient and long-forgotten history of their country and that of the other side's.
Leather gloves gripped tightly to the binoculars that rested with unease in his hands. A heavy, loud sigh emitted past parted lips, just as they had done in the year of 1950.
The blond man removed the field glasses from his vision, taking his sweet and precious time to put back on the spectacles he usually wore.
Three years of civil war that he was involved in had resulted in the creation of the world's most heavily-guarded border.
What in the hell were they thinking?
A white-nape crane flew past his eyes, over the trees and animals that inhabited the dangerous beauty he knew as the Korean DMZ.
A bird chirped a song, as if it was oblivious to the tension and fear that resided in the hearts of the men standing on guard.
Through the trees, over the shrubs, and beyond the grass, he watched a man in beige and a cap stand straight and still at attention.
The gun never left their hands.
Their eyes never left their gaze.
Their feet never left their post.
And he knew that their mind never left the brainwashed teachings.
Alfred F. Jones stretched out an uncomfortable stiffness in his neck, looking to the South Korean nation who stood in silence next to him.
"Welcome to the scariest place on earth." He mumbled, folding his arms across his chest.
And all Im Yong Soo could do was nod his head, vexated.
Author's notes:
That quote "Welcome to the scariest place on earth" was said by former US president Bill Clinton during his visit to the DMZ in 1993.
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