PART ONE •

            The Pacific is a casino; Russian Roulette is our war. The players are Japan and America, gambling the lives of men.

April 18, 1942 [Tokyo, Japan]

“There are no people more sheltered and pleasure-loving than the Americans. War with them will be quick and easy; once they can no longer stomach mass casualties, their people will be vying for peace. Those soldiers have no willingness to—”

Mr. Ishimoto spoke endlessly, his lecture morphing into a string of rants. I scrawled down my name, Sasaki Airi, and let my eyes wander toward the massive windows lining the left wall. In futile heartache, I gazed toward the expansive azure sky, momentarily escaping the monotony of propaganda lessons and student duty.

I blinked, spotting dark shadows flit through the cloudless blue. Small jets flew close overheard.

“Sasaki!” I heard Mr. Ishimoto’s yell and whipped around, my black hair slapping another student’s face. The teacher, in all his condescending glory, stood directly over my desk. “Your notes are bare scribbles. Explain that.”

Every student stared, but I didn’t mind, grinning wildly at his expression of disapproval. “Uh— I was scorching the sky and found those fighter jets you mentioned earlier.” I said brightly, pointing toward the airborne planes.

His attention immediately diverted, I glanced across the room to Hanako, returning her playful smirk with a dopey smile. Mr. Ishimoto, notorious for maintaining an iron grip on the lesson, seemed suddenly enthralled with the sight of a few planes.

“Those—those aren’t Japanese.” He spoke hesitantly. “The planes… I believe they’re American.”

A ghostly shadow glided along the ground, and I heard the whirring of engines dangerously close overhead.

Immediately, bombs in the schoolyard erupted in a searing inferno, engulfing the building with thick, billowing smoke. A gargantuan gray plume fogged our vision as black fragments of shrapnel smashed windows. I froze in terror, watching the first darkness fall upon Tokyo.

War was coming home.

October 30, 1942 [Tokyo, Japan]

    The first drifts of snowfall marked my older brother’s arrival, his ship docking Tokyo harbor by midday. Hanako and I sat cluelessly by the water, watching military men shuffle about like moving stones. Suddenly, a familiar voice cleared its throat behind us.

    “Miss— can I help you with something?”

            I swerved to face my brother laughing, a wide grin spreading across our cheeks. My arms flailed aimlessly before squeezing him in a tight hug.

           “Daisuke— you’re finally back! I’ve missed you so much!” I exclaimed. His smile disappeared quickly, and I noticed frown lines and bandages.

           “It’s… rare to see you so discontent.” Hanako said worriedly. “What’s going on?”

           My brother stared into the water, a shadow passing his eyes. Something in his expression gave it away— my heart plummeted before hearing anything.

           “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking with misery. “Father was gravely injured in an air raid over Kyoto, and our brother I—Isamu… ” He never completed the sentence. Hanako squeezed my hand in an attempt at comfort as waterfalls streamed from my pupils. After a few moments, I croaked a low, knowing whisper.

           “Isamu is dead.”

           He refuted a slight, sad nod as the world crashed around me.

April 22, 1943 [Tokyo, Japan]

           The following spring, I hadn’t yet seen my father, worries of him manifesting whenever my thoughts trailed off. During grief, Hanako’s optimism was my anchor, gifting me inklings of hope where empty despair gathered. We trained as nurses in the district hospital, where she followed her father’s medical footsteps and I followed her’s.

            That morning, two gargantuan, damaged ships sailed into harbor. Injured men lifted dying men through crowded doors, and I disregarded their downcast, hopeless expressions. Soldiers die, but Japan would win.

        I fixated myself to this, working robotically with bandages and medication and buttons and needles. Nurses had duties and needless sorrow was not one of them.

    “Yuki,” A distant voice called out. Teeth clenched, I continued wiping blood, walking trance-like from patient to patient.

“Yuki!” I looked up as Hanako grabbed my arm, pulling me aside. “A patient just came in; he’s someone—someone you have to see.” She rushed down the white halls, dragging me toward the officers’ ward. Startled doctors and patients flashed by until we slowed to a halt, facing a hospital bed with curtains drawn. I read the patient’s name and froze.

Lieutenant Colonel Sasaki Kiyoshi.

Father.

My arms tore into a frenzy, throwing the curtains open and falling beside his bed. The bloody odor strengthened as I knelt beside a nearly unrecognizable body, bandaged over and over until just eyes and mouth remained visible.

I couldn’t cry, couldn’t feel despair, even watching his eyes open and blood seep through the fabric.

“You’re strong, Airi.” My father whispered quietly, watching my horribly dry eyes. “But you don’t have to be. I taught you the meaning of war and I regret every word of it, child.” He coughed, voice laced with pain. My fingernails raked the floor in frustration.

“Dad, I want to be stronger. You and Daisuke battle overseas and—” Frustration welled up. “I’m sitting home, useless and aiding those who can no longer fight.” My mouth quivered. “I’m deadweight.”

For the first time, I saw his eyes soften and moisten; moments passed, and silence hung.

“No, Airi. I am glad that you are a woman.” He croaked weakly. “You will never experience the horrors of a battlefield, or live with the burden of a murderer.” The grip around my arm tightened. “I am truly glad that, at least, my daughter will live.”

Cold tears rained at last.

July 27, 1943 [Tokyo, Japan]

My father returned home that morning, retrieved his lieutenant colonel badge, and strode wordlessly out the door.  After returning empty-handed and jobless, my mother slapped and screamed him out. It was July 27; his first night as a retired veteran, he slept on the street.

I listened silently as my mother’s eyes ignited in colonel-like fervor, accusing him of cowardice and weakness. When Isamu refused to enlist years ago, my father did the same, throwing his son away. My now dead brother slept on concrete for eighteen days before succumbing to his expectations and dying as a result.

It was May 1937, and I crawled out windows to bring Isamu dinner.

In June 1943, I did the same for my father.

August 2, 1943 [Tokyo, Japan]

He was allowed return, but the storm finally thundered. Our neighbors’ mockery gathered into gray clouds of humiliation. My mother’s rage fueled vicious lightning bolts that rocketed through the house and into her husband’s heart.

August 9, 1943 [Tokyo, Japan]

Today, shouting matches descended into a quiet standstill, at the eye of a hurricane. Amidst sudden tranquility, my father drove a blade across his wrists, watching beads of blood become gushing streams of red. It was the second time I’d seen his tears, the once iron-fist of our family crying.

I discovered him laid unconscious in a scarlet pool, stopping him at death’s door. But my mother forced me to leave, enraged to see me tearstained. Walking the roads away from home, my eyes dried again.

And I swore they always would be.

PART TWO •

Two years flew in a blur until March 9, 1945, my seventeenth birthday. That night, deep darkness fell, and with it came a rain of heavenly fire. Sirens blared wildly and shrieks blasted through my ears as the sky exploded in a red haze of crackling bomblets.

One hundred thousand die while I sit in a bunker and believe I will remain unfazed forever.

As long as I have Hanako, I’d never break.

As long as I have my best friend.

March 11, 1945 [Ruins of Tokyo]

Two days after the bombing raid, gravestones and black garments plague the countryside, seas of stone dotting the sunlit grass into a mismatched gray. My mother led me striding through tall grasses there, her usual icy expression transformed into rare uneasiness.

Something’s wrong, I thought. Shoving the fear out my head, we quickened the pace, turning a corner into a wide field.

“Mother, what happe—”

I stopped, dead in my tracks. The family before me crowded a single headstone, standing in silence. Only one woman sobbed, watering the fresh dirt with cries of grief. Thunder struck my heart when I recognized her as Hanako’s mother.

I wish I never saw them.

My anchor to the world lifted, and everything seemed to travel farther and farther out of view. People’s voices muted; I saw opening gaps in mouths between words that never reached me. And for the first time since my father’s attempted suicide, I looked to my mother in crazed desperation.

This time, she was there.

“I know death mom—! I can see it, I can feel it! She’s not supposed to die because—because…” I shook violently, clutching my mother’s limp arms. Her eyes only offered me sorrow: hopeless, condemning sorrow. “Please, please mommy don’t look at me like that… Hanako isn’t a soldier— Hanako isn’t supposed to die in a war! Oh, Hanako…” My voice shattered into quiet sobs, and I hung from my mother’s arms like a lifeless worm. Her fingers traced over my flowing cheeks, and my miserable will to scream dissipated into a void of disbelief and hate and grief.

March 18, 1945 [Train To Hiroshima]

The tracks rumbled beneath my feet for hours as my mother and father spoke of safety in Hiroshima.

I knew I was different, angry, alone— on the train away from home.

April 18, 1945 [Hiroshima General Hospital]

“Happy birthday to you,” I sung quietly, gazing at the white building. “Happy birthday to Hanako~, happy birthday to you.”

It felt comforting here, closest to her spirit. I strode in smiling, beginning work at Hiroshima General Hospital. Sasaki Airi is a nurse, I thought, like Hanako and her once were, together.

August 6, 1945 [Hiroshima General Hospital]

While grabbing a clean bandage, I toppled a tray of medical utensils. It hit the floor with a loud clang as my patient woke with a jolt, confused of his whereabouts.

“Ah, sorry!” I yelped, crouching to retrieve the equipment. His bandages were in desperate need of changing.

“Good morning, Private Hironaka.” I said, unsure of how to address him. He propped himself up, staring at me curiously.

“Good morning, err—”

“Sasaki Airi, sir.”

“There’s no need to call me sir; I’m only seventeen. And you can call me Itsuki.” He smiled warmly, but I remained tense. “Could you tell me how I ended up here?”

“Ah, sir— I mean, Itsuki. The villagers found you lying unconscious outside the bomb shelter and brought you over to the hospital immediately.”

“Now I remember,” He said. “I was knocked out from an explosion while helping them.”

“Why were you?” I asked slowly. “I mean, helping them, when it almost cost you your life.”

“Well, I enlisted in the navy a couple months ago.” He replied. “I was stationed out in Kure to aid villagers during air raids.”

Air raids. His words conjured memories I fought fiercely into submission. The red haze, the siren shrieks, the grief of death— it was all coming back and I hated it.

I caught myself staring at him with angry eyes and stepped away quickly.

“Wait!” He called out suddenly. “Why do you hate it so much but still choose to work here, as a nurse?”

Legs halting, a flash of misery crossed my heart.

“It—it brings me closer to her.” I whispered.

“Closer? Closer to who?” He asked. I stared him dead in the eye, conscious of my heavy glare.

“Closer,” My whisper reeked of spite. “to my dead best friend.”

I returned hastily to work, removing his bandages and dressing the wounds. My mind was extremely conscious of Itsuki’s silent staring, how he seemed to observe my every move with hawk-like watchfulness. My hands unraveled burns, open wounds, and purple bruises across his torso and arms, enough for me to wonder how he could sit up and smile so easily.

“S—sorry about that, Itsuki.” I apologized, stuttering. “Could you lift up your arm please?”

He hauled his scarred right arm onto an armrest while I shuffled through a basket of herbs and ointments, clenching my jaw and forcefully damming the miserable river of memories.

“Why do you need so many herbs?” He asked. “How do you even know which ones are which?”

I discovered myself remembering our serenity in the mountains, biking up familiar trails, bamboo baskets bouncing on the handles. It was heaven amongst those glowing trees, following her in herb-gathering and medicine-making.

“My best friend taught me everything I know.” I whispered fondly. “Sh—she would’ve been an incredible doctor.”

A smile crept up the corners of my lips and I met his gaze. Though his expression remained complacent, I noticed a dark fog in his eyes; he bore the same dark circles and frown lines carved on my own face.

“And now you carry her legacy, Airi.” He said. “You’ve continued nursing in her stead; she’d be overjoyed to see you here.”

My smile drained into sadness.

“She was always happy.” I replied quietly, gripping the bandages tighter. Itsuki laid his hand on mine; it was comforting.

“Airi, you are never alone.” He spoke firmly, emotionally. “There’re still so many people who care deeply about you— and you must let them.”

He didn’t force me to look at him, but my ears took in everything like a cure. There was a pause, and I shifted back slightly. He continued,

“M—my father; his death made me enlist. I had to protect him in some way. I felt as alone as you do now but… Airi, the pain, it only gets worse from here,” He paused. “Don’t try dealing with everything on your own.”

On my own. That’s what I believed a future without Hanako would be: alone, destitute. I was a ship that lost its anchor, but remained circling and circling the waters where it would never rise again. But there, in that quiet hospital room bathed in morning sun, I sailed into the docks, realizing that everyone had lost and grieved in this game of constant bloodshed.

There was nothing to blame beside war itself.

Itsuki turned toward the windows, and among the cloudless cornflower skies, we spotted a lone jet zipping away. I recognized it: a B-29, among the planes that rained death on Tokyo.

One moment there was silence; the next, a gleaming, blinding, terrifying light flashed through the room.

“Airi!” Itsuki screamed, leaping and defending me from the incoming blast. I burrowed my face in his chest, bracing for something, anything. A brief moment passed while the magnesium light dissipated.

But before I could process anything, windows shattered, and shards of glass shot in all directions, embedding themselves like bullets into the skin of his arms. Agonizing heat shot through my body in a searing typhoon of fire, and I finally opened my eyes.

            Itsuki loosened himself, and I covered my mouth in horror, seeing shards of shrapnel protruding from his body. Every inch of exposed skin exhibited skinless, flesh-exposing burns.

            The ceiling rumbled dangerously, and I hauled him to his feet, fearing even the earthquake-proof building could topple.

            “We have to leave.” I exclaimed fearfully. He collapsed from his wounds, eyes begging me to abandon him. I shook my head, hauling us out.

              But I soon realized it was too late. A blazing inferno blocked the exit, a massive bonfire radiating suffocating amounts of heat. We both knew only one could escape, but I disregarded this, dragging him with every ounce of strength I could muster.

             “Airi, run!” Itsuki yelled, his voice dry and cracking.

            “No, no.” I cried, seeing no light, no safety beyond the flame. “I can’t just leave you behind.”

         “I—I have nothing; my parents are dead, I have no brothers or sisters. But you—you have people that love you, that need you alive,” he whispered. “You’re the only person willing to do so much for me.”

            His hand reached for my face, taking me into a silent kiss. My heart filled with emotion as memories of family and Hanako resurfaced. Suddenly, Itsuki pushed me away, toward the exit.

            “Run!” He shouted, eyes flaring with a flame brighter, hotter than the roaring blaze.

            This time I listened, sprinting ahead, evading the fire by inches. My legs tore past blackened corpses, every muscle shrieking in panicked overdrive. I looked back, tears flowing, realizing I’d done something horrible.

            Itsuki smiled. Before the red-orange behemoth swallowed him whole, reducing him into a sitting, burning shadow, he smiled. Soul unmoved, the seventeen year-old soldier surrendered his life, disappearing behind a veil of devouring luminosity. Feet flying again, I choked on ashes as saltwater streaked my face.

            I cried, crying for Tokyo, scorching embers thundering on the city I called home; crying for Hiroshima, reduced to a hell of corpse and fire; crying for my brother Isamu, dying when he never wished to fight. I cried for Hanako. I cried for Itsuki.

August 16, 1945 [On Radio Broadcast]

            Japan surrendered.

August 20, 1945 [Four Days Later]

            I wallowed in despair day after day, my vacant stare wandering the windows. Outside, Hiroshima was a completely leveled skyline, radioactive rubble caked with mountains of human ash.

            Knock. Knock. Knock.

            Three sharp raps shook the door, and I stepped away, silently crossing the room and creaking it ajar. A soldier clad in gray stood smiling in the doorway, sweeping me into a sudden bear hug.

            “Daisuke?” I whispered. My eyes widened in shock, spotting another, taller man behind him. “I—Isamu?!”

           My grinning oldest brother leapt forward as well, squeezing us tighter together.

            “Yeah, your brothers are back!” Daisuke replied, overjoyed. “Isamu had only been taken prisoner and we had no idea… Airi, I’m so glad you’re alive— we survived war apart but we’ll move past it together, okay?”

            I closed my eyes, feeling their heartbeats against mine, the same blood thumping through all our veins. It was impossible to smile, my heart broken then healed then shattered into a thousand pieces. But his words sprouted a kernel of hope, a willingness to believe and say,

            “Okay.”

            War is leaving home.

{Word Count - 2950}