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Vignettes / Re: Lifetimes of Change (Historical Vignettes set from 1891 - 2011)
« on: March 03, 2024, 12:21:32 PM »
Fire on the Mountain, Part One
Hiroioki, Kyūre, Izumi Prefecture
July 1st, 1945
11:45 PM
It was almost pitch-black outside, the skies heavily overcast as rain fell gently from above. Just a few minutes of decent weather all day, Yuna had thought as she lay in bed, before the darkness returned. It seemed almost fitting, given the circumstances, but in the moments that she wasn’t in pain, her mind was free to wander, most often to the day that everything changed, the day that Kahori died. How long had it truly been, she wondered when her father-in-law left for work that morning. For him to be up and about, it had to have been some span of time, at the very least. A day? A week? A month? The passage of time had bled together, and she’d hardly paid attention to the rising and setting of the sun. To tell the truth, she didn’t care anymore.
Murderer.
That’s what Azumi had called her, and as she looked at the family’s shrine, where poor, young Kahori’s ashes sat in a box, she couldn’t help but agree. She could’ve taken another route to the station. She could’ve not stopped on the way back to the station. She could’ve done so much to prevent this, but she didn’t. And to make matters worse, whenever someone would come to visit, as Mrs. Fukumori—one of their neighbors—had earlier in the day, they’d look at her with pity. She survived, and they pitied her. What sense was there in that, pitying someone who was so inattentive that she got her own niece killed in such a preventable fashion? No. The last thing she needed was pity. That was for the innocent, not for her.
Do you think you could draw Hisao for me next?
Her last words, at least, the last that Yuna ever heard. Her memory of that day was at times both vivid and fragmentary; she remembered the moments leading up to the explosion quite well, but afterwards, what few things she could recall, she didn’t want to remember. She could remember, between moments of consciousness, seeing as first responders scraped what little remained of Kahori off the ground. She could remember the hospital being so full that not only was she given just the bare minimum of treatment before being sent home, but that her father-in-law had been sent home with them. And of course, she remembered how Azumi had seen her afterwards. She was still in pain, but then again, everyone was. The war had truly come home now; it wasn’t like her brother going missing—presumed dead—in Toshima. She’d directly witnessed the death of a loved one, perhaps even, in some small way, caused it.
Yet when the now ever-familiar tones of the radio issued forth, what thoughts she had at the time quickly faded away. Outside, it was so dark that, were it not for the searchlights which guided the local AA battery’s fire, one might not be able to see more than a couple dozen meters away.
”The central region’s office of civil defense reports: 23:50. Two groups were observed over Hatsukaichi bay. Furthermore, there are two groups over the Hinase strait and two over the Kitan channel. In the southwest, there are…” The presenter prattled on. Off in the distance, engines could be heard, though surely they’d have some time left before whatever was coming would arrive.
“Are you awake, Yuna?” Natsumi asked, opening the door to her room. For her part, Yuna had, in fact, been awake for a while, and had been getting ready to evacuate the building; she had, however, run into some trouble with her hood. These hoods had been in use for a while by now, yet she never quite understood their use. All it might do is prevent dust from getting into her hair, which now seemed so inconsequential to her.
“I am.” She answered as Azumi began removing the shoji doors as instructed by countless meetings of the tonarigumi.
A few minutes would pass as everyone present did what they could to prepare. The once faint buzzing of aircraft engines had given way to a most furious roar, perhaps louder than they had been anytime before. By two minutes before midnight, they had become impossible to ignore, which of course meant it was time to get into the shelter.
“Look at that, they’re saying that there are many airplanes, but I tell you, I can’t see them.” Natsumi said, helped by her daughter on their way to the shelter. Almost as soon as they stepped down from the porch, a bright yellow light filled the sky as flares began to fall from above. No doubt, it was either some sort of signal or simply a means of illuminating the city for the enemy. It was a strangely beautiful sight, like the attack on the 16th of March or the first time she saw a condensation trail.
“Yuna, c’mon! Quickly now!” Someone, perhaps Azumi or perhaps one of the Arikawas, said, and yet, she did not move. Why couldn’t she move? She might’ve thought it was beautiful, in its own way anyways, but she knew to run from that which was beautiful if it was still a threat. Fear? They hadn’t attacked yet, but perhaps that was part of it. No, it was something else. Soon enough, a new sound filled the air, almost like the shattering of glass mixed with the ruffling of paper, and light fell from the sky before striking the ground with a loud bang, setting alight all that surrounded them.
It was guilt. That’s what she felt, even as one of the incendiary bombs crashed through the roof but did not explode like the others. In that moment, she wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t sad, hell, she wasn’t even happy—if one could call it that—about what had happened. She was just tired, tired of the grief, of the pain, of the guilt. She felt angry, yet not because they had been attacked; rather, she was disappointed that it hadn’t landed a meter closer and took her with it. It would’ve been what she deserved, after all. But then, with tears in her eyes as she looked at the bomb, she remembered what she had been asked just a short while ago.
”Are you going to be alright?”
Was this alright? Kahori was dead, she was maimed, and now, the house was about to go up like a tinderbox. What would Iwao think if all of them were gone? Would he be alright? She couldn’t bear to imagine it, yet so lost was she in her own thoughts that she could hardly do anything at all. Azumi once told her that she’d been brought here only to help out, yet Iwao had truly enjoyed her time with them. She had too, but… It felt as though she had only brought the Umekis pain and heartache. Would they be better off without her?
“Yuna, where are you!?” Azumi shouted for her, a lone voice in the darkness which seemed to drown out the flame. Though she didn’t mean it that way, the question seemed almost perfect. “Where was she?” indeed. Home. Prison. Refuge. Torment. It seemed so conflicting, how she felt about this place, yet there was one thing, at the very least, which was certain: it needed to be protected. She soon ran, scanning the area for something, anything which might put it out. At the end of the porch, a pair of buckets full of water. She might’ve only had one arm, but she would have to manage. She hoisted one up, propping it up against the stump that once was her right hand, and ran like a bat out of hell with a great cry.
“Water! I need more water!” She shouted as she tried—and failed—to extinguish the flames which threatened to consume their abode, soon resorting to using her futon to stamp it out, an act which was frankly foolish on a normal day and which singed the fringes of her clothes. She could hear the tramps of footsteps on the wooden floors getting closer.
“Yuna, did one of them hit us?” Azumi asked before quickly stepping in to help. A precious few more seconds passed, and before she knew it, the fire was out. They wouldn’t look at the bomb, that small, rectangular thing, yet to think that such a device could do so much damage so quickly… They were lucky. If it had gone off, they would’ve lost the house and Yuna would’ve died. As Azumi, Natsumi, and a few of their neighbors helped to move the device, the buckets, and the now scorched futon out of the house, she would step towards the edge of the yard, exhausted, as she looked out towards the city below. A great breeze, warm to the touch, slammed against her face, and in shock, she could only look out and stare.
Kyūre was burning.
Hiroioki, Kyūre, Izumi Prefecture
July 1st, 1945
11:45 PM
It was almost pitch-black outside, the skies heavily overcast as rain fell gently from above. Just a few minutes of decent weather all day, Yuna had thought as she lay in bed, before the darkness returned. It seemed almost fitting, given the circumstances, but in the moments that she wasn’t in pain, her mind was free to wander, most often to the day that everything changed, the day that Kahori died. How long had it truly been, she wondered when her father-in-law left for work that morning. For him to be up and about, it had to have been some span of time, at the very least. A day? A week? A month? The passage of time had bled together, and she’d hardly paid attention to the rising and setting of the sun. To tell the truth, she didn’t care anymore.
Murderer.
That’s what Azumi had called her, and as she looked at the family’s shrine, where poor, young Kahori’s ashes sat in a box, she couldn’t help but agree. She could’ve taken another route to the station. She could’ve not stopped on the way back to the station. She could’ve done so much to prevent this, but she didn’t. And to make matters worse, whenever someone would come to visit, as Mrs. Fukumori—one of their neighbors—had earlier in the day, they’d look at her with pity. She survived, and they pitied her. What sense was there in that, pitying someone who was so inattentive that she got her own niece killed in such a preventable fashion? No. The last thing she needed was pity. That was for the innocent, not for her.
Do you think you could draw Hisao for me next?
Her last words, at least, the last that Yuna ever heard. Her memory of that day was at times both vivid and fragmentary; she remembered the moments leading up to the explosion quite well, but afterwards, what few things she could recall, she didn’t want to remember. She could remember, between moments of consciousness, seeing as first responders scraped what little remained of Kahori off the ground. She could remember the hospital being so full that not only was she given just the bare minimum of treatment before being sent home, but that her father-in-law had been sent home with them. And of course, she remembered how Azumi had seen her afterwards. She was still in pain, but then again, everyone was. The war had truly come home now; it wasn’t like her brother going missing—presumed dead—in Toshima. She’d directly witnessed the death of a loved one, perhaps even, in some small way, caused it.
Yet when the now ever-familiar tones of the radio issued forth, what thoughts she had at the time quickly faded away. Outside, it was so dark that, were it not for the searchlights which guided the local AA battery’s fire, one might not be able to see more than a couple dozen meters away.
”The central region’s office of civil defense reports: 23:50. Two groups were observed over Hatsukaichi bay. Furthermore, there are two groups over the Hinase strait and two over the Kitan channel. In the southwest, there are…” The presenter prattled on. Off in the distance, engines could be heard, though surely they’d have some time left before whatever was coming would arrive.
“Are you awake, Yuna?” Natsumi asked, opening the door to her room. For her part, Yuna had, in fact, been awake for a while, and had been getting ready to evacuate the building; she had, however, run into some trouble with her hood. These hoods had been in use for a while by now, yet she never quite understood their use. All it might do is prevent dust from getting into her hair, which now seemed so inconsequential to her.
“I am.” She answered as Azumi began removing the shoji doors as instructed by countless meetings of the tonarigumi.
A few minutes would pass as everyone present did what they could to prepare. The once faint buzzing of aircraft engines had given way to a most furious roar, perhaps louder than they had been anytime before. By two minutes before midnight, they had become impossible to ignore, which of course meant it was time to get into the shelter.
“Look at that, they’re saying that there are many airplanes, but I tell you, I can’t see them.” Natsumi said, helped by her daughter on their way to the shelter. Almost as soon as they stepped down from the porch, a bright yellow light filled the sky as flares began to fall from above. No doubt, it was either some sort of signal or simply a means of illuminating the city for the enemy. It was a strangely beautiful sight, like the attack on the 16th of March or the first time she saw a condensation trail.
“Yuna, c’mon! Quickly now!” Someone, perhaps Azumi or perhaps one of the Arikawas, said, and yet, she did not move. Why couldn’t she move? She might’ve thought it was beautiful, in its own way anyways, but she knew to run from that which was beautiful if it was still a threat. Fear? They hadn’t attacked yet, but perhaps that was part of it. No, it was something else. Soon enough, a new sound filled the air, almost like the shattering of glass mixed with the ruffling of paper, and light fell from the sky before striking the ground with a loud bang, setting alight all that surrounded them.
It was guilt. That’s what she felt, even as one of the incendiary bombs crashed through the roof but did not explode like the others. In that moment, she wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t sad, hell, she wasn’t even happy—if one could call it that—about what had happened. She was just tired, tired of the grief, of the pain, of the guilt. She felt angry, yet not because they had been attacked; rather, she was disappointed that it hadn’t landed a meter closer and took her with it. It would’ve been what she deserved, after all. But then, with tears in her eyes as she looked at the bomb, she remembered what she had been asked just a short while ago.
”Are you going to be alright?”
Was this alright? Kahori was dead, she was maimed, and now, the house was about to go up like a tinderbox. What would Iwao think if all of them were gone? Would he be alright? She couldn’t bear to imagine it, yet so lost was she in her own thoughts that she could hardly do anything at all. Azumi once told her that she’d been brought here only to help out, yet Iwao had truly enjoyed her time with them. She had too, but… It felt as though she had only brought the Umekis pain and heartache. Would they be better off without her?
“Yuna, where are you!?” Azumi shouted for her, a lone voice in the darkness which seemed to drown out the flame. Though she didn’t mean it that way, the question seemed almost perfect. “Where was she?” indeed. Home. Prison. Refuge. Torment. It seemed so conflicting, how she felt about this place, yet there was one thing, at the very least, which was certain: it needed to be protected. She soon ran, scanning the area for something, anything which might put it out. At the end of the porch, a pair of buckets full of water. She might’ve only had one arm, but she would have to manage. She hoisted one up, propping it up against the stump that once was her right hand, and ran like a bat out of hell with a great cry.
“Water! I need more water!” She shouted as she tried—and failed—to extinguish the flames which threatened to consume their abode, soon resorting to using her futon to stamp it out, an act which was frankly foolish on a normal day and which singed the fringes of her clothes. She could hear the tramps of footsteps on the wooden floors getting closer.
“Yuna, did one of them hit us?” Azumi asked before quickly stepping in to help. A precious few more seconds passed, and before she knew it, the fire was out. They wouldn’t look at the bomb, that small, rectangular thing, yet to think that such a device could do so much damage so quickly… They were lucky. If it had gone off, they would’ve lost the house and Yuna would’ve died. As Azumi, Natsumi, and a few of their neighbors helped to move the device, the buckets, and the now scorched futon out of the house, she would step towards the edge of the yard, exhausted, as she looked out towards the city below. A great breeze, warm to the touch, slammed against her face, and in shock, she could only look out and stare.
Kyūre was burning.