Hiroshima

Akira Takahashi loved the marketplace. Although he was not a young boy anymore, and he couldn't quite scamper around greeting the men at the tools shop or the women at the perfumes shop like he used to, he still enjoyed every bit of it. The scent of the baker's warm, cushiony, golden-brown bread, the fishmonger vehemently arguing with Mrs. Fujioka about the Great War, the carpenter's boy shooting marbles with the American blacksmith's girl. He walked along the cobblestoned path, which was cracked and caked with dirt, as he had done for almost 40 years now, and inhaled the sweet scent of the cherry blossoms. Maybe it was because he had never been anywhere out of Japan, but he felt like Hiroshima was the best place to live in. Just moments later, the world collapsed.

Dew watched the old man pass. He seemed to be smiling to himself. She could see that he cherished Hiroshima. Dew, however, hated every little thing about it, from the sickly pink cherry blossoms to the disgusting smell of the fish shop to the scraggly, unkempt, and frankly rather atrocious appearance of the baker. Everyone called her 'American scum'. She despised the country. Well, all of it, except Eiji. Ever since she moved to Hiroshima, Eiji was her support rock. Her light in the darkness. Who complimented her every chance he got. Who stood up for her, did her homework, made her laugh so hard her sides hurt. Dew looked over at Eiji. And watched her best friend collapsed into nothingness.

One more minute. One more minute to slaughter millions of civilians. The deaths of their fragile bodies, their doe-shaped eyes rusting. One more minute to bomb Hiroshima. And not just any bomb. A nuclear bomb. A nuclear bomb is what it takes to strip an old man of his home, a young girl of her best friend. And somewhere, in the midst of it all, my father. My father was a coward. He was an offense to America. But Dew. My sister. She did nothing to deserve this. But this is a matter of honor. American honor. Yes, I am selfish. But I am a patriot. I am astonished at my own courage, my temerity. But this is for a good cause. My one minute is up. I reach over to the panel and press the button. I feel nothing. But I can see it.

I can see the pain down below. It looks beautiful. Red, and Beautiful. Red is my favorite color.