"Life in Hell" for South Korean hostages' families

By Jon Herskovitz

BUNDANG, South Korea (Reuters) - Sleeping feels like a sin for an exhausted Ryu Haeng-sik who looks after his two young daughters in suburban Seoul, waiting for word on his wife held by Taliban insurgents in Afghanistan.

With news that a second kidnap victim has been killed, the strain is clear on Ryu and other relatives of the 23 South Koreans -- 18 of them women -- who were taken hostage south of Kabul nearly two weeks ago.

"It feels like my heart is being scorched. It's unbelievable how sinful I feel for just eating and sleeping," Ryu said in an interview with Reuters.

"I feel like I'm in hell. I just wish it would all end," he said at the church which sent the group to Afghanistan.

Analysts said there is little Seoul can do to respond to the kidnappers who are demanding the Afghan government release Taliban prisoners in exchange for the hostages.

It has sent a special envoy to Kabul to try to help. But there are increasing calls in South Korea for the United States to intervene and help bail out an ally.

The kidnappers have already killed two male hostages and threatened on Tuesday to kill more of the remaining 21 if their demands are not met.

Ryu said his wife, Kim Ryun-young, loved to teach children which was why she joined 22 other volunteers from Saemmul Church, based in a suburb south of Seoul, on the trip to Afghanistan.

Red-eyed family members have been gathering for the past 12 days since the kidnapping, watching TV news programs in windowless rooms at their church.

Two of Seo Jeung-bae's children -- a daughter who is a nurse and a son who is a barber -- are among the hostages.

"They did not go to Afghan to fight," Seo said. "So please, don't let there be anymore sacrifices.

"I can't save them. I wish I could just die."

Tables have been set up for reporters at the five-storey church in a room where colorful pictures drawn by the children of parishioners hang on the walls.

The church sits in a commuter district of Seoul where steeples, some adorned with red neon crosses, interrupt a skyline of narrow apartment buildings standing like rows of dominoes.

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