This is a short story I wrote a while back. Any and all feedback on it is appreciated. Anyway... here we go...
The cool air that had once been sweetened with the crisp, serene scent of early autumn now reeked with the pungent stench of burning flesh. The place I had once identified as my home now felt cold, foreign, and unfamiliar. The skies were filled with the smoke from the fires, cremation fires that were consuming the remains of those who had died—people who had been my friends, my neighbors, and my family.
My father had been conscripted into the war a little over a year ago. At the optimistic age of thirteen, I had written to him almost every week, and the replies were equal in number. Father was always interested in the latest developments of my schooling and how my imouto, my sister, Sakura was doing. However, the replies stopped abruptly after a few months, and we hadn’t heard from him since. Mom always tried to keep positive thoughts in our minds and the flame of hope alive in our hearts, but I knew, as well as her, that he was most likely dead.
Screams of agony now echoed through the destroyed town. The faces of those badly injured, red and black, bloody and burned, called out in pain, while others, distraught and tired, searched for something, loved ones, lost treasures, anything at all that they could recognize in this grotesque mess of destruction and anguish. Bodies were stacked in mounds waiting to be cremated, while those who were wounded were taken to makeshift clinics set up in the handful of buildings that were still standing. It is unimaginable to think that someone could produce enough hate to cause this much destruction. War is such a simple word for something so hateful.
“Brother! Brother!” cried Sakura. She’d been hurt in the incident, but now she’d been bandaged up and seemed to be doing fine. “Have you found mom yet?” she asked. I had, but I could bear to put the leaden weight of the situation upon her little shoulders. Our mother had been gravely wounded, but by the time I had gotten there she had already died, and her body was being taken out to one of the funeral pyres. I begged the doctors to let me see her face one last time, but they just told me that seeing what was left of her face would only bring about more pain.
“Not yet, Sakura-chan. I promise she’ll be ok, though.” I felt my eyes tearing up for not the first time during this long and tragic day, as I thought of the searing heat of the crimson flames engulfing my mother’s body. The grim truth of the situation had been slowly sinking in. We had been orphaned, and I had to dedicate myself to protecting the one person I had left in the world, Sakura. I was now the man of the family, and I had to help her make it through this tragedy.
“Mom is gone, isn’t she? She died didn’t she?” I thought that she maybe had seen me tearing up, so I fought the tears off. Nevertheless, she was already clinging to my leg, sobbing her eyes out. I knew I had to get her out of this place, out of this wasteland of death. I had to let go of my past, let go of my memories here, and escape.
“Sakura-chan, don’t say that! I’m sure mom is alright. Come on, let’s go to one of the nearby villages for awhile. I’m sure we could find a place to stay.” To be honest, I just had to get out of this place before I went insane. I gathered up what little was left of our rations and what little was left of my strength of mind, and prayed that both would suffice until I could get to a fresh place, a place not haunted by such destruction, where we could begin our lives anew. As we neared the edge of the city, I was astonished when I saw the endless torrents of people flooding into the city to offer help—medical teams, military units, and even ordinary people from nearby villages. They weren’t here to gape at the horrors of the atrocity that had been committed, but came instead to offer help in any way they could—easing the pain of the victims and helping the survivors rebuild and bring peace and happiness to the city again. I felt a wave of guilt flood my body as I realized I wasn’t fulfilling my duties to my own community, but I lied to myself, assuring myself that it was my duty to get Sakura out of here.
We slept about fifteen kilometers outside of town, not on soft futons as we had the night before, but instead on the frigid, harsh ground. The whole night my mind was polluted with images of what had happened—a cruel nightmare of death and sorrow, which was so unfortunately true. I awoke early the next morning to find Sakura already up and walking around.
“Brother, I feel funny,” she complained. It appeared that some of her long, glossy obsidian-black hair had fallen out, and she looked weak and tired. “My back hurts.” I lifted up the back of her shirt and shivered. Her back was covered with lesions, and her skin burned with the heat of fever.
“It’s alright, Sakura-chan, let get you some water.” As I sprinted, my muscles ached with soreness, and I realized how out of shape I really was, but adrenaline gave me the strength to push forward. But, when I got back, my heart sank and my muscles tensed up when I realized what was happening. She had keeled over onto the ground, and was fluttering on the verge of consciousness. Tears started to fill my eyes, and I knelt down on the ground beside her, realizing that she was dying.
“Brother…” she said weakly. I tried to make her relax, but feebly she reached out her hand, clutching a small rubber red ball. “He… re… Bro… ther…” she said, barely managing to get anything more from a whisper out. As I took the ball from her tiny little hand, a smile filled her face. She slowly lowered her arm, and fell asleep, the smile still filling her face. It was then, that I knew, she would never wake up again.
How apt her name was for her life. Much like the cherry blossom, she was born, beautiful, into a world that was happy, peaceful, and without worry, only to have her life cut tragically short. What a bittersweet name for such a bittersweet life. I held her limp body, sobbing, realizing that I had not only failed, but I was alone. No one was left—my sister, my father, and my mother had all been taken away from me by this awful war. I felt ashamed and lost, and the temptation of suicide crept up menacingly in the back of my mind. I felt I had nothing left to live for, and I fell on the ground beside her, trying to recall some memory before this devastating war ever began, trying to find a sanctuary free from the pain the only place that I could, within my mind. And then…
It was Sakura’s third birthday at the beginning of April, and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of spring, as the vivid colors of newly-bloomed flowers began to paint the countryside. Sakura had been born on the day that the cherry blossom tree behind our house bloomed, bearing its beautiful rosy-white flowers, so my parents had named her Sakura, hoping she’d flourish just like the flower. Now, she had been in the world for three years, and my parents had sent me to the market to get some white rice for her birthday dinner. Sakura had stubbornly insisted on coming with me, and as we walked, she followed behind me, never making even the slightest peep. I found myself turning back every few moments to make sure she was still there. One time I looked back, and much to my dismay, she wasn’t, but I chuckled when I saw her, with her face glued to a nearby shop’s window. There, inside, was a ruby-red ball the size of cherry, and no matter how much I tried to coax her, she refused to leave. So, I grabbed my a few yen from my pocket and went inside, and that is how Sakura got her third birthday present from me.
Of course I had completely forgotten about it over the past four years, and I was sure she had lost it, but surprisingly, she had treasured it. I never realized how much that gift, even though it was so small and modest, actually meant to her. I knew she had always admired me, though I never realized she had cared that deeply. Maybe her giving the ball back to me was a way of her saying to me what she was already too weak to say, she wanted to pass on hope in the only way she could, wanting me to go on even though I had lost her.
This brought to mind the flag of our now ruined country of Japan—the solitary red circle standing on the pure white background. I had always asked my senpai, my schoolteacher, what it meant, and all she ever said was each and every person had to find their own meaning behind it. Up until this point I hadn’t really thought about what she actually meant, but now the idea stood crystal clear to me. It was a symbol for hope, a symbol to tell us to always keep working towards our dreams, to never give up, and to always work to bring honor and happiness to ourselves, to our family, and to our community.
I began to ponder the meaning behind my own name, Suzumu. It had never dawned on me to ask my parents why I had been given a name that meant “progress.” They had never told me, and now I had the sudden feeling to find meaning behind my own name, and I thought of the crowds of people rushing into the city to provide aid, and I understood, now, that I should return to do my share, offering help in whatever ways I could, advancing the people living in the world around me out of this age of darkness, bringing back a time of peace and happiness.
So, that night I had a small cremation as a funeral for my sister. Once again, I felt the cold, damp pain of sorrow wash over my body, as the dry heat of the fire consumed Sakura’s delicate body. As I prepared to face the truth and return, an icy breeze began to blow, sending a shiver up my spine.
Then it started, just with one little flurry, at first. Soon, a multitude of tiny little snowflakes was drifting towards the ground. This was a sight that seemed oddly out of place, but then I remembered that my sobu, my grandmother, told me when I was not much younger than Sakura…
“If you ever see snow fall on a cool lonely night, Susumu-chan, remember, it is the souls of those who have recently died shedding tears for those who they left behind. They are Angel’s Tears,” she had said.
I hesitated for a moment, as I wondered if this was Sakura crying for me…
After the Hiroshima tragedy, it was speculated that it would be centuries before life would ever return to the ruins of the city. Yet, just a few years after the tragedy, oleanders, now a symbol for hope, began to bloom, and now line the roads of the rebuilt city. Where the bomb it, a memorial peace park was constructed, serving as a reminder of the heartbreak that occurred there so many years ago. In the center of the park stands a cenotaph, on which is engraved the words:
“Let all of the souls here rest in peace,
For we shall not repeat this evil.”
Please read if you want and comment back to me on anything. Anyone else reading please feel free to make comments on the story. I might post them on the ZR board as reference to the fiction from board members.
Thank you so much, GZ. The in-depth analysis really helped me notice flaws and mistakes that I hadn't picked up before, and I honestly appreciate how you took the time to sit down and do so much for me.
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