“Something’s wrong mother, I know, you’ve been awake all night.”
“Come on, we’re going NOW!” his mother shouted sternly, hurriedly approaching the front door.
“I HATE YOU! Why don’t you ever tell me anything? You’re the one that took Dad away from us, didn’t you? It’s entirely YOUR fault!” Joe cried. Unexpectedly, his mother said nothing. She opened the front door and ambled towards the car impassively. Joe was confused and angry. He was trying to get his head around what was happening and why everything and everyone seemed so melancholy but he just could not understand. All he knew was that everyone was talking about it. But what was it? They drove to school in painful silence.
As he looked out of the car window, a blanket of never ending dreariness flooded the skies above Hiroshima. An uncontrollable, dark, savage underworld covered the Earth’s beauty once so familiar. He remembered the delicate wind passing by, magically swaying the tall grass and blooming daisies ever so slightly and the blue, yellow, red, purple flowers standing tall against the blue sky as their soft, fragrant smell drifted through the welcoming breeze, stretching towards the horizon. The atmosphere of calmness and peace pervading His thoughts were cut off as his school drew near. He saw teachers and parents gathered together murmuring worriedly. As he examined the situation, he noticed that mothers were sobbing, some screaming. He looked up at his mother; she was gazing at them solemnly, her eyes looked sunken and she appeared to be lost in thought. Joe coughed and she looked down and forced a smiled, “I’ll see you later Joe. Have a good day.” She kissed him and waved goodbye, her heart breaking as she walked away. She knew that anywhere was safer than home. Joe nodded and joined his classmates.
The day passed quickly and soon it was lunchtime. Joe and his friend were nearing the dining room eagerly anticipating a hearty meal. Suddenly an intense light dazzled them. There was an earth shattering bang. The next thing they knew, their teacher was screaming, “RUN, GO TO THE BASEMENT QUICKLY RUN!” Struggling to breathe, Joe ran to the nearest door, desperately tugging on the stubborn door knob, “IT’S NOT OPENING, HELP SOMEONE HELP!” yelled Joe helplessly. Every bone in his body protested against the sweltering heat. Abruptly, he heard another explosion and instantly his body was slammed against the wall and within a split second, the building disintegrated and shattered into pieces above them. They were buried alive. Rising majestically into the air, was a boiling mushroom cloud. It glowed deep orange like a billowing fire, rising and dissipating into a million particles. Joe’s vision became blurred and he was getting weaker by the minute.
Powerlessly he looked around him for help and what he saw scarred him for the rest of his life. They weren’t buried alive. Drained from his face, life slowly seeped away. He died with his eyes open. They sat in their cadaverous sockets, hollow and dry, as lifeless as the body to which they belonged. Those empty, unseeing eyes stared infinitely into the distance, unable to process anything again. “They’ve taken him,” Joe screamed “MY ONLY FRIEND” Cries of his dying friend echoed in Joe’s head as he forced another scream for help. Groaning and screaming with anguish, he writhed around on the floor, clutching his body. His blue eyes that had been so striking now stared listlessly, dull and lifeless. The pain was unbearable. He was now fighting to stay alive, not only for himself but for his friend.
*
Regret. He regretted the last words he said to his mother. Those words had lingered in Joe’s mind for every day of his life since. After several minutes, Joe turned to the boy and said faintly “I am the lost survivor of the Hiroshima nuclear attack.” The boy had calmed down and was in deep thought as he approached Joe guiltily, realising Joe’s suffering. “I-I’m sorry Grandpa. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It’s just... I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us? You shouldn’t have had to go through all this by yourself,” the boy explained. Joe sat silently, hunched over with a sense of loss. “I-I couldn’t. I wanted to forget what happened that day... that afternoon on 6th August 1945. I went to sleep that night and promised myself that I would not relieve that pain ever again because it killed me the first time,” Joe whispered, his arms wrapped tightly around himself in an embrace, gently rocking back and forth. His cheeks were stained with the endless stream of tears from his glossy eyes, enduring the emotional pain that continued to engulf him. As the boy reached out and touched Joe’s hand, a feeling of warmth and affection filled the room. “Grandpa, if you wish to keep this a secret then I’ll do so.” the boy insisted, smiling reassuringly. “You must not feel guilty for surviving, you must feel blessed.”
