A Rising Blazing Sun – Jessica Hinschen

A Rising Blazing Sun

Jess Hinschen

Aiko began her stroll towards her city rising in the sun. She loved how the sun made the shop windows shine like glittering ocean waves and brick buildings warm and inviting. It made living in Hiroshima still worth it. Her feet tapped from left to right, making her radio jolt in time to the music it warbled. She hardly noticed the dome, growing bigger in the distance. Ue o Muite Arukō started playing on her radio.

Ue o Muite Arukō I look up as I walk

Namida ga kobore nai you ni So that the tears don’t fall

Her eyes made their way up, doing as Kyu Sakamoto said. The clouds were as fluffy as those in pictures. The sun drifted through them like they were paper. Aiko’s eyes had to come down, though, and they did, over to Hiroshima Hall. The more she looked, the more she was reminded of a sunset all those years ago, of fire and smoke and destruction.

Countless bodies lying scorched.

Crumbling school uniforms.

Blood-flecked eyes.

The more she thought, the more her legs gave way, digging themselves into the crumbly soil. Adrenaline ran like rocket fuel through her veins. Aiko felt the burning sky against her skin. The engulfing smoke choking her lungs. Nose crinkling at the smell of searing overcooked skin and overflowing blood. Hearing the piercing screams of death. The fear of the pain to come. Tears brushed past her cheeks as quickly as acid rain. As she kneeled in the dirt, she heard Sakamato’s voice waft over to her.

Shiawase wa kumo no ue ni Happiness lies above the clouds

Shiawase wa sora no ue ni Happiness lies above the sky

Only then did she look up at the sky. Tears blurred her vision, but she still saw the fluffy clouds, spun like cotton candy and white as imagined snow. The world hadn’t thrown wreckage from the sky again. It was still a Monday morning, the same as before. The sun’s rays didn’t scorch or burn her. They warmed her cheeks instead.

Though I’m in the past, the clouds are still there, Aiko said to herself, unaware she was thinking out loud. The sun’s still behind the clouds. The hall is still there. It’s not the same, but it’s there. She tried to remember the hall as she loved it, and reconcile it with its now broken dome. The exhibitions. The wonderous lights on its façade, lighting up the night like space, full of stars. She recalled countless visits, but they were tinged with ruin, of a place gone forever.

It’s not the same, but it’s still there. It’s not the same, but it’s still there. She had to remember that. Her legs still wavered, but she swung each one forward, determined to get to work in one piece. As she walked, popstars still talked sweetly through her radio. The sun shone brighter as buildings passed her by.

Aiko swore she would look up as she walked, so she could see her Hiroshima Hall again.

Rokusuke, E (1961), Sukiyaki (). Tokyo: Toshiba-EMI.

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