The Bomb
It was an average day. I hated my life. Boring. Despicable. Hate filled my soul. I hated everything about my life. “Tomoko, cook the rice!” “Tomoko, clean the plates!” My miserable life. My despicable parents. I’m 18, I should do what I want. But instead, I live with my parents, doing labor in this tiny excuse for a ‘village’. I lived nearby Hiroshima, Japan. You’d think that Japan is a lovely place, but really, it gets quite boring after 18 years. I noticed that recently there has been a bit of war coming back and forth from Japan, ever since about 14 years ago. I heard they invaded some place called ‘Manchuria’, and about 6 years after, the invasion of China. Also, Japan fairly recently invaded Pearl Harbor, so they are still celebrating. Even I felt quite happy for my home country. Not for long though, a few mornings after depression took over again. Every night, when my parents are sleeping, I climb up a tree, and sit there, staring at the lovely lights of Hiroshima. I long for that city. If I lived there, I would actually be able to understand the feeling of ‘joy’. I admit I may be exaggerating, but still, I have never left the bitterness of this lonesome village in my life. Those towers in the distance, mocking me. If I could only live there for just one day. And that’s more or less when I get tired, then fall asleep. Another couple depressing days pass by, until one day I make my decision. I’m going to Hiroshima. I can’t make a nighttime escape, it’s far too dark. I can’t let my parents stop me, then they would probably lock me in my room. I would have to escape in broad daylight. I’d better pack supplies now. A bright new day, January 15th. Well, maybe not bright. When you live in a village like this, you can never call anything ‘bright’, except for when you’ve stared at the sun for 2 minutes. Well, anyways, time to get out. Mom and Dad are fast asleep, but the sun is high enough to lighten the path. I brought a bunch of bread, wheat, and rice, along with a bucket of water, and a stick to tell the time I’ve got some training of a sundial from one of the villagersit’s not hard. That’s effectively everything we own, except for a house. I left the village and set off for Tokyo. Little did I know of the surprises set ahead of me. January 17th, early morning, I’d say about 8:00. I have already gotten to Hiroshima, actually. Maybe I over prepared. Getting here was one thing, now I really feel quite ecstatic. But how will I survive? I need food. I need money. What to do? I didn’t have many options. I decided I’ll see how long I can live as a beggar, and, luckily enough, I managed to amass enough cash to get a decent takeaway dinner. I couldn’t believe that beggars make so much money, I thought they would make about ¥10 a day, but apparently not. After dinner, I continued my begging for a couple more days, following the same routine. Then, one day, a man came up to me and said: ‘You know, I know a great guy in Tokyo who will happily give you a job. He says that he will accept anyone who can speak, and that he’ll kill me if I don’t find him an employee! I know he’s just joking around, but nonetheless, he’s going to be pretty mad if I don’t make his standards. He even says that he’ll provide transportation payment if you come to him, so what’s there to lose?’
The bullet train is out of this world. 300 km an hour? You can’t deny it it’s amazing. It’s an unforgettable experience of adrenaline and speed. ‘How’s the train?’ the stranger asked. His name is Akio. Really nice man, he is. He led me to the train, and we easily became great friends. ‘It’s... Fast.’ I said, still amazed by the incredible speed of the bullet train. So, apparently I’m working at a local Japanese style ‘McDonalds’ in Tokyo. I am the cashier now, and in a matter of months, I found a nottooshabby apartment. I live on, and on, and on. I must admit, I’m growing quite attached to the place. Just 7 months of working here, already got promoted. Got a ‘worthy’ apartment, and I get to do what I want, when I want. It’s like a whole new life. It’s 8:00. Today I needn’t go to work, I’m picking this day as a day off. Right now I’m just lying in my bed, reflecting on life. Thinking about what I could’ve done better. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m starting to miss them. Maybe I should go back? I don’t know. If only something could help me decide. Fifteen minutes later, I hear a huge explosion coming from quite near my village. It has a deafening scream and a huge mushroom cloud of smoke. I wasn’t very well educated, but educated enough to figure: that’s got to hurt. I swore I’d never come back, but my heart was telling me to help. What would I do? *** On the bullet train back from Tokyo. No time to admire the speed. Thinking. Planning. Hoping. Sudden stop. I’m here. Running straight through Hiroshima to my village. I ran as fast as I could. It would only take 1 day at this pace. I had to help those poor villagers. If even one villager gets wounded, then I would feel absolutely dreadful. I’m dead tired, and the village is still just a speck in the distance. At this rate, I’m never going to get to the village. I won’t be able to help anyone, I’m just a useless piece of trash. I couldn’t help being pessimistic, it’s just terribly irresistible. I’m almost there, running as fast as I can, until: “Help, help! Somebody, anybody, just help me!” “What’s wrong?” I responded. The man looked like he was somewhere on the other side of the world from Japan while the bombing took place, he looked absolutely fine muscular, even. What could possibly be wrong with him? “Thank god! Please, help my family! My son is suffering from cancer, and my wife got exposed to radiation, I don’t know what’s wrong! Please, come with me!” “What are you doing out here?” “I didn’t know who could possibly help me, so I decided to run away, and look out here, while my family stays at home.” “I might help you, but” “Thank you so much! Come on!” The man pulled me with all his strength, so I ended up following. He was muscular indeed. The only bright side to following the man so far is the fact that he carried spare food. He brought me to a barren wasteland that he claimed was Hiroshima. I know it was bombed, but it seemed like a cruel, realistic nightmare.
I gave them some of my supplies, and tried to tend for their wounds, but it was no help. The man and his family were going to have to start pushing up the daisies sooner or later. We all knew it was inevitable, so we just let it happen. Soon after that day, the man’s wife and his son died. That day, I noticed just how lucky I was to have a family that was still living. That was the day that changed my life forever.
Epilogue
A year has passed since the bomb. I helped the man for a long time, until they eventually passed away. By that time, most of the radiation had passed, and Hiroshima is slowly putting bandages on its wounds. I noticed that the man lived longer than his wife, contrary to most circumstances. The man was crying almost everyday since the death of his wife. I live happily with my family now. Apparently, my
family, too, found out that after a bit of time apart could make us see how much we needed one another. And that’s the tedious story of my life.