8-9-45

Bands of summer heat mixed with remnants from the wafting destruction, distorting images of people that wandered through western Nagasaki in shock. Present were Naito and Tran, hobbling about and wondering what life could mean. The news from Hiroshima Prefecture three days ago left everyone deadened and terrified, wondering if such horror could happen here.

Naito's grandsons moved to Hiroshima to perform fieldwork for government companies in search of labor for their war deeds. However, astonishing reports of cooked casualties and tortured survivors the American bomb had caused there filled Naito with anguish, sensing those children were dead.

This insanity was all there was.

Naito's frame bent as he grasped at bread laid before him in the marketplace. Tran, her 70-year-old stature also decaying from severe arthritis and lack of medical care, paid the merchant with money borrowed from their son, with whom they live. Were it not for that arrangement, Naito and Tran would be homeless.

This war and its maddening significance frustrated Naito. His expectations for any future rested upon his leaders' abilities to stop this lunacy that infected his native soil.

Then, the sky pealed with a loud crack and the earth lurched below his feet; instantly he knew it was over. Before the energy vaporized him, he met Tran's eyes and whispered, "Aisai!"

Soon after, 7,200 miles away, the president and his generals gathered to assess their precious bomb's work. To their satisfaction, it had clearly met and exceeded their expectations.


To Stories by Max contents