Beneath the Blossoms: A Comfort Woman’s Story

INTRODUCTION:

Kim Eun-Hee (V.O.)
I was just a girl when the petals began to fall.
Fifteen, maybe.
We thought it would be work in a factory.
We thought we’d come home.
But we were never told the truth — and when the truth finally came, no one wanted to hear it.
This story isn’t just mine.
It belongs to every girl who walked into silence and never returned.
If you listen closely, you’ll still hear us…
In the hush of falling blossoms.

Act 1: The Blossoms Fall

FADE IN:

EXT. GYEONGSANG PROVINCE – VILLAGE – EARLY SPRING – MORNING

Gyeongsang Province, Korea – March 1942

A gentle breeze rustles through apricot blossoms, their pale petals dancing in the air. A narrow dirt path winds between thatched-roof homes. The air is filled with rooster calls, bubbling soup, and the laughter of children.

INT. KIM FAMILY HOME – KITCHEN – MORNING

A small, humble home. Sunlight spills across a worn wooden table where Kim Eun-Hee (15) kneels beside her Mother (40s), shaping rice cakes with soft, flour-covered hands.

Eun-Hee 
(smiling shyly)
Can I bring a few to teacher Moon tomorrow? He lets me read after class.

Mother
Just don’t go falling in love with books and forget your chores.

They share a laugh. Her mother strokes Eun-hee’s cheek. There is deep love here, spoken through gestures.

INT. SCHOOLROOM – DAY

Eun-hee sits by a window, scribbling in a worn notebook. On the page:
A poem about apricot petals falling like secrets.

She looks out the window — a single Japanese flag flaps in the distance. Her gaze dims slightly.

EXT. VILLAGE CENTER – AFTERNOON

A Japanese soldier stands next to a Korean interpreter, reading aloud from a list.

INTERPRETER (in Korean)
All girls aged 16 or older are invited to work in factories to support the Empire. Food, pay, and housing provided. Sign here.

Eun-hee watches from afar with her Father (50s) and LITTLE BROTHER (8).

Father
Factory, my foot. More likely coal mines.

Eun-Hee
But what if it’s real work, abeoji? I could help.

Father
You help us by staying here. By surviving.

EXT. RIVERBANK – SUNSET

Eun-hee and her best friend Min-Ja (16) skip stones.

Min-Ja
My cousin says there are real jobs in Manchuria. Modern buildings. Roads. They need workers.

Eun-Hee
Do you believe her?

Min-Ja
I believe anything that isn’t... this.

Eun-hee looks toward the horizon. A faint train whistle echoes in the distance.

INT. KIM FAMILY HOME – NIGHT

Eun-hee and her mother sit close by the fire. The family eats in silence.

A knock at the door.

VILLAGE CHIEF (O.S.)
Kim Eun-hee? There’s a place for her on tomorrow’s train.

Her father rises in anger, but Eun-hee gently places a hand on his.

Eun-Hee
Let me try, abeoji. Just for a little while.

INT. BEDROOM – LATE NIGHT

Eun-hee folds a few clothes into a satchel. Her mother silently hands her a pink handkerchief, embroidered with tiny apricot blossoms.

Mother
Keep this near your heart. No matter where they take you.

Eun-hee clutches it, tears forming.

EXT. TRAIN STATION – MORNING

A line of young girls stand with bags in hand. Military trucks roll by. Some girls smile nervously. Others stare into nothing.

Eun-hee stands beside Min-ja. A Japanese soldier paces nearby.

Father
(shouting)
Eun-hee!

Eun-hee turns. Her father stands at the fence, holding her little brother back. His face is tight, emotion choking his voice.

Father
Remember who you are!

The whistle blows.

INT. TRAIN CAR – MOVING – DAY

Dark, windowless, full of girls. No laughter now. Just breath, sweat, silence.

Eun-hee sits holding the handkerchief, pressed to her chest. She stares ahead, unmoving.

Across from her, a girl whispers.

OLDER GIRL
You think we’re going to a factory?

No one answers.

The train clacks and moans as it disappears into the mountains.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF ACT 1.

Act 2: The Train to Nowhere

FADE IN:

INT. TRAIN CAR – DAY

A suffocating stillness. The car sways rhythmically. Girls lean on each other, some crying silently. Others bite their lips, trying not to break.

Eun-hee sits upright, still gripping the apricot handkerchief. Her eyes are hollow. Her friend Min-ja rests her head on Eun-hee’s shoulder.

Suddenly—

BANG! BANG!
A soldier pounds on the side of the train. Laughter outside.

JAPANESE SOLDIER (O.S.)
(in Japanese, cruelly)
Don’t look so sad. You’re going to serve the Emperor well.

Inside, the girls remain silent.

INT. TRAIN CAR – LATER

The train jerks to a halt. Screeching metal.

The door slides open. Blinding light pours in.

A gruff Japanese soldier yells.

SOLDIER (in broken Korean)
OUT! QUICK!

The girls stagger into motion. One collapses. The soldier yanks her up by the arm.

Eun-hee and Min-ja clutch each other, stepping out.

EXT. RURAL OUTPOST – DUSK

The train sits in a clearing, far from any city. A barbed-wire fence surrounds a low building with blacked-out windows. Military trucks idle nearby. No signs, no maps, no escape.

The girls are herded like cattle.

GUARD (O.S.)
MOVE. NOW.

INT. INTAKE ROOM – NIGHT

Rows of girls, forced to strip one by one. A military doctor checks them under fluorescent lights.

Eun-hee shivers in her underclothes. A female nurse, Japanese, scribbles notes coldly. No one meets the girls’ eyes.

A sobbing girl resists. A soldier slaps her hard.

Min-ja trembles. Eun-hee steps closer, shielding her with her body.

SOLDIER
(mocking)
Sisterhood won’t save you.

INT. CELL-LIKE ROOM – NIGHT

Eun-hee is shoved into a small room: concrete floor, thin blanket, bucket in the corner.

The door slams shut. A metal bolt echoes.

She stands there, clutching her bag, not moving. Then slowly sinks to the floor.

From next door, she hears:

GIRL (O.S.) (screaming)
No! Please—!

The scream cuts off.

Eun-hee’s lips part, but no sound comes. She clutches the handkerchief like a lifeline.

INT. SAME ROOM – UNKNOWN HOURS LATER

The door creaks open. A shadow enters. A Japanese soldier.

He throws something on the bed — a piece of bread, a tin of water — and stares at her.

She turns away.

He steps closer.

Eun-Hee
That night, I became someone else. A shape. A skin.

INT. ROOM – LATER

Eun-hee lies curled on the floor. Blood stains her legs. Her eyes are wide open but unfocused.

The handkerchief has fallen beside her, wrinkled.

A voice calls softly from beyond the wall:

Older Girl
You still breathing?

Silence.

Older Girl
If you’re alive, listen. Don’t scream. Don’t beg. Save your tears. You’ll need them later.

Eun-hee closes her eyes.

MONTAGE – “DAYS IN HELL”
Haunting, minimal score underneath.

— Eun-hee forced to bow to an officer, her eyes blank.
— A line of soldiers waiting outside her room.
— A bucket of water spilled on the floor, her knees bruised.
— A bloody cloth being rinsed out.
— Girls whispering prayers at night.
— Min-ja, barely recognizable, walking past without looking at her.

INT. SHARED WASHROOM – NIGHT

Steam rises from a cracked sink. A few girls stand in silence, washing themselves slowly. Their bodies are covered in bruises.

Eun-hee walks in. She spots Min-ja.

They meet eyes.

Min-ja looks down. Ashamed. Broken.

Eun-hee gently takes her hand. Neither says a word.

INT. DORM ROOM – LATER

Eun-hee lies awake. The older girl from before, Jung-Sook (20s), speaks from the top bunk.

Jung-Sook
You’re from Gyeongsang, aren’t you?

Eun-hee nods faintly.

Jung-Sook
I’m from Jeolla. I was taken two years ago.

A beat.

Jung-Sook
Don’t die in your mind. If you die there, your body follows.

Eun-Hee 
But it already happened. I’m not who I was.

Jung-Sook
Then be someone else. Someone who survives.

Eun-hee slowly opens her palm to reveal the handkerchief.

Eun-Hee 
My mother made this. She told me to keep it near my heart.

Jung-Sook (softly)
Then it is still beating.

INT. SMALL COURTYARD – DAWN

Girls are allowed outside for ten minutes. They move like ghosts.

Eun-hee stands near a wire fence. Through it, she sees a single apricot blossom, blooming on a crooked tree.

She touches her chest, where the handkerchief lies beneath her uniform.

A thin tear slips down her cheek — not from pain, but from memory.

Eun-Hee 
I told myself this:
You are not the room.
You are not the hands.
You are not the pain.
You are the girl who once wrote poems about blossoms.
You are still her. Somewhere.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF ACT 2.

Act 3: Every Night a War

FADE IN:

INT. DORM ROOM – NIGHT

Moonlight seeps through a small barred window.

Eun-Hee  lies curled on her straw mat. Her back to the door. Eyes open.

A muffled scream echoes from the hall.

She doesn’t flinch. Her face is still. But her hand clutches the handkerchief beneath her shirt.

INT. “COMFORT ROOM” – DAY

The room is clean, almost sterile. A cot. A bucket. A small mirror.
The door opens. A soldier enters, drunk.

SOLDIER (O.S.)
Smile for the Emperor.

Eun-Hee lowers her head. She does not speak.

Eun-Hee
I learned to float above myself.
To leave my body before they entered.
To breathe in only memory.
And exhale pain.

INT. WASHROOM – NIGHT

Jung-Sook helps Eun-Hee clean a wound on her arm. Both are quiet.

Eun-Hee 
Min-ja… She hasn’t spoken in three days.

Jung-Sook
Some girls go quiet. Others go mad.
We all go somewhere.

A beat.

Jung-Sook (softly)
If you can, write something. Even in your mind.

Eun-Hee 
What would I write?

Jung-Sook
Something no one can touch.

INT. DORM ROOM – LATER

Eun-Hee lies with her eyes closed.

Eun-Hee 
I wrote letters to no one.
Poems on the ceiling in my mind.
I imagined apricot trees tall enough to reach the moon.

The sound of boots outside. A bell. Another round.

SOLDIER (O.S.)
Kim Eun-hee!

Eun-hee slowly sits up. She walks to the door.

INT. COMFORT ROOM – HOURS LATER

Eun-Hee washes her hands in a basin. Her wrists are red.

She stares into the mirror. Her reflection looks… unfamiliar. Eyes aged beyond years.

Eun-Hee
There are wars they never write down.
And I was a battlefield every night.

EXT. COURTYARD – DAY

It’s raining. The girls are lined up for food. Thin gruel.

Min-ja refuses her bowl. Shaking.

Eun-Hee gently holds her spoon and feeds her.

Min-Ja
(barely audible)
I dreamed I was home.

Eun-Hee
You’re still here.

Min-Ja
No… I left.

A long silence.

Min-Ja (whispering)
I saw your poem. The one about blossoms. I remember.

Eun-Hee’s eyes well up.

INT. PRIVATE ROOM – LATE NIGHT

A high-ranking officer visits. He wears medals. He reeks of alcohol.

He’s not like the others — he stares at Eun-hee, like she's a doll.

He grabs her wrist. Hard.

OFFICER
You belong to the Emperor now.

Eun-Hee
(quietly)
No one owns blossoms. They fall where they want.

He slaps her. Violently.

She hits the ground, her hand landing on the floor, where a petal from her handkerchief has torn loose.

INT. DORM ROOM – NIGHT

Jung-Sook stitches the torn handkerchief with a sewing needle from her sleeve.

Jung-Sook
You still have fight in you. That’s rare.

Eun-Hee 
I don’t feel strong.

Jung-Sook
It’s not about feeling.
It’s about choosing.

INT. MAKESHIFT CLINIC – DAY

A girl convulses on a bed. Fever. Internal bleeding.

A nurse injects something and shakes her head.

The soldier signs a paper. One less.

Eun-Hee watches from the doorway, trembling.

She turns away, covering her mouth.

INT. WASHROOM – NIGHT

Eun-Hee opens her shirt. Bruises. Bite marks. A cracked rib.

She wraps her stomach with cloth. Slow. Careful. Quiet.

Eun-Hee 
They tried to make me disappear.
But I etched myself in silence.
In every breath I refused to surrender.

EXT. YARD – DUSK

The girls are taken out for fresh air. A tiny gesture of control.

One girl runs toward the fence. Screams.

She’s shot. Immediately.

Everyone freezes.

The guards drag her body away like trash.

Eun-Hee kneels. Her hands shake.

Jung-Sook
You survive. Not because you're lucky.
Because you don’t give them the ending.

INT. DORM ROOM – NIGHT

Min-Ja hums a tune.

Eun-Hee joins in. Just a few notes.
A folk song from their childhood.

A tear slides down Min-ja’s face.
And then a quiet smile.

Eun-Hee 
In the dark, we found each other.
Tiny lights that refused to go out.

INT. SMALL ROOM – DAWN

Eun-Hee wakes to silence.

She pulls out the handkerchief.

On the fabric, tiny blossoms — some faded now.
She presses it to her lips.

Then folds it gently. Places it beneath her pillow.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF ACT 3.

Act 4: Silence After Thunder

FADE IN:

EXT. MILITARY OUTPOST – NIGHT – EARLY 1945

A storm lashes the compound. Wind howls. Thunder cracks.

Inside, the barracks are silent. No guards laugh tonight.
The distant boom of artillery echoes from the hills.

INT. DORM ROOM – SAME NIGHT

Eun-Hee lies awake.

Jung-Sook whispers from her bunk.

Jung-Sook
They’re losing. Word’s spreading. Japanese soldiers… deserting. Burning documents.

Eun-Hee
Then we’re free?

Jung-Sook
Not yet. But maybe soon.

INT. HALLWAY – LATER

A door swings open violently. Soldiers shout in Japanese.

They throw papers into metal drums and light them.
Smoke fills the hallway. The girls watch from behind doors.

Min-Ja
They’re erasing us.

EXT. OUTPOST COURTYARD – MORNING

Abandoned.

The trucks are gone. The gates are open. No soldiers remain.

The girls stand there. Free to move, but frozen in place.

One by one, they step forward. First Min-ja. Then Eun-hee.
Jung-sook limps behind.

Eun-Hee
They didn’t tell us we were free.
They just vanished.
Like shadows at sunrise.

EXT. DIRT ROAD – LATER

A group of villagers approaches — Korean men in tattered resistance uniforms.

They stop, shocked by what they see:
Dozens of girls in stained clothes, bruised and hollow-eyed.

One man whispers:

RESISTANCE FIGHTER
Yeogiga... (This is it...)

He lowers his weapon.

EXT. TRUCK – MOVING – DAY

The girls sit in silence on the back of a flatbed truck. Wind in their hair. Mountains passing by.

Eun-Hee stares at the sky. Her fingers grip the handkerchief tightly in her lap.

Min-Ja leans her head on her shoulder. She sleeps like a child.

INT. VILLAGE – RETURN – EVENING

Eun-Hee steps off the truck into her old village.
She walks past homes she once knew.

She arrives at her house.

It’s empty. Roof half-collapsed. Door missing.

No one is there.

Eun-Hee
They didn’t wait.
Or they couldn’t.

INT. OLD HOME – LATER

Eun-Hee sweeps the floor of dust. She finds her old notebook, damp but intact.

She turns the pages. The poem is still there:

"When blossoms fall, they whisper not of endings — but beginnings no one sees."

Her hand trembles. She closes the book gently.

INT. VILLAGE MARKET – NEXT DAY

Whispers ripple as Eun-Hee walks through town.

VILLAGER (O.S.)
That’s her… one of them.

ANOTHER WOMAN
They were with the soldiers.
You know what that means.

Eun-Hee meets their eyes.

Then looks away.

EXT. RIVERBANK – DAY

She sits alone, watching the water.

Min-Ja sits beside her quietly.

Min-Ja
We came back…
But we’re still not home.

Eun-Hee
Maybe we have to make a new one.

Min-Ja
How?

Eun-Hee (softly)
By surviving anyway.

INT. SMALL SHRINE – EVENING

Eun-Hee lights a single candle. She places the handkerchief beside it.

She prays silently.

Behind her, Jung-Sook stands in the doorway.

Jung-Sook
There’s a new home in Seoul.
Some are going there.
To speak. To be heard.

Eun-Hee
What’s left to say?

Jung-Sook
The truth.
Because they tried to erase it.
And we’re still here.

FADE TO BLACK.

END OF ACT 4.

Act 5: A Voice Unforgotten

FADE IN:

INT. COMMUNITY HALL – SEOUL – 1991

Dozens of elderly women sit in folding chairs. Some wear traditional hanbok. Others in plain coats. Their eyes carry entire lifetimes.

Flashes click. Reporters murmur.

A small podium waits at the front. A banner reads:
“TRUTH TRIBUNAL FOR THE WOMEN OF WAR.”

Among the crowd, Eun-Hee (mid-60s) sits in silence. She clutches a folded cloth — the apricot handkerchief, faded but clean.

INT. BACKSTAGE ROOM – MOMENTS EARLIER

Eun-Hee stares at herself in a mirror. Her eyes search her own reflection. Behind her, Jung-Sook, older but strong, speaks gently.

Jung-Sook
You don’t have to be brave.
You just have to be real.

Eun-hee nods. Quiet. Then stands.

INT. COMMUNITY HALL – CONTINUOUS

Eun-Hee walks slowly to the podium. Her shoes echo against the wooden floor.

Silence falls.

She places the handkerchief on the podium. Her fingers tremble.

She opens a small notebook.

Eun-Hee
My name is Kim Eun-hee.
I was taken from my village when I was fifteen.
I was told I’d work in a factory.
Instead… I was turned into something else.

Gasps. Some women cry. Others bow their heads in solemn understanding.

FLASHBACK – BRIEF SHOTS FROM ACTS 1–4

— The apricot blossoms falling as she leaves home.
— The train door slamming shut.
— Min-ja weeping beside her.
— The officer’s slap.
— The blood on her legs.
— The smile returning to Min-ja’s face as they sing.
— The candle and the handkerchief in the shrine.
— The whisper: “We’re still here.”

BACK TO SCENE

Eun-Hee (voice stronger now)
I was not a traitor.
I was not a woman who chose.
I was a girl.
And they took everything but this—

She holds up the handkerchief.

Eun-Hee
My mother embroidered this for me.
She told me to keep it near my heart.
So I did. Through the worst.
And I’m here now — because I kept something no soldier could take.

INT. COURTYARD OUTSIDE – LATER

Reporters crowd around, but Eun-hee slips away quietly.

She finds a bench beneath an apricot tree in bloom.

Min-ja, also old now, joins her.

They sit without speaking.

Blossoms fall.

Eun-Hee
They said we should forget.
But forgetting is not peace.
Peace is when the truth can breathe —
and the world finally listens.

EXT. HILLSIDE MEMORIAL – ONE YEAR LATER – DAY

A polished stone monument reads:

“In memory of the women who endured the war with no weapons but their will to live.”

Beneath it: dozens of names.

Eun-Hee places her handkerchief in a small glass case near the base. A single blossom rests on top.

Children nearby run, laugh, and play.

She watches them. Her eyes soften.

INT. SCHOOLROOM – DAY

A young girl writes a poem.

“The blossoms fall,
but not in silence —
they land like thunder
in the soul of the world.”

She looks up. The teacher, an older woman — Eun-Hee — nods.

EXT. VILLAGE FIELD – SUNSET

Wide shot: The same dirt path. The apricot tree now full-grown. Its branches sway.

No soldiers. No screams. Just wind. And memory.

FADE OUT.

SUPERIMPOSED TEXT:

Between 1932 and 1945, thousands of Korean girls and women were forced into military sexual slavery by the Japanese Imperial Army.
Most never returned.

Those who did lived with silence, stigma, and scars.

In 1991, the first survivor publicly testified. Others followed.

Their voices changed history.

We remember them.

THE END.

Final Thoughts by Elder Eun-hee

Kim Eun-Hee
For years, I kept quiet — not because I forgot, but because I remembered everything.
Because shame stuck where it never belonged.
But silence is not peace.
And memory is not weakness.
I lived through what they tried to erase.
I speak now not for revenge… but so no one can ever again say, “We didn’t know.”
We were girls.
We were not the war.
But the war lived through us.
And now, so will the truth.

Short Bios:

Kim Eun-hee

A 15-year-old Korean girl with a gentle spirit and poetic mind. Taken from her village under false promises of factory work, she endures unimaginable hardship but clings to her identity through memory and quiet resistance. Her embroidered handkerchief becomes her symbol of survival.

Eun-hee’s Mother

A soft-spoken woman whose love is expressed through acts of care. She gives Eun-hee the embroidered handkerchief as a parting gift, unaware of the horror to come. Her presence lingers in Eun-hee’s heart as a guiding light.

Min-ja

Eun-hee’s best friend, spirited and optimistic at first, but quickly broken by the cruelty they face. Her silence becomes a haunting mirror to Eun-hee’s inner collapse. Their bond offers rare warmth in a cold world.

Jung-sook

A resilient young woman who has already spent years in the system. Hardened but compassionate, she becomes a quiet mentor to Eun-hee. She teaches survival not through strength, but through endurance and inner voice.

Elder Eun-hee (1991)

Now in her 60s, she carries the scars of silence. Her decision to speak at the truth tribunal reflects decades of buried pain and her unwavering desire to protect the memory of the forgotten.