Prologue:
August 1948
Dear God,
The blood of 160,000 people will soon stain my conscience as I seek revenge. New York will feel the same wrath that took my children, husband and free spirit three years ago. I live with purpose — to destroy what destroyed me. The bomb I created will be twice as large as what demolished my city, Hiroshima.
They all will pay…
Your revengeful devotee,
Ayame Aoki,
National Science Institute of Japan
3 Hours Earlier, Manhattan:
“Bina, it’s unsafe for immigrants at Chatfeild park!” Grandma warned. “Since your parents passed I’m…”
I steer the conversation before she gets emotional. “Tara’ll protect us! She’s insurmountable in wrestling, even disguised as a man. Please. I miss my parents’ spot.”
“Fine. Be home by six,” She demanded.
Yes! Chatfeild temporarily erases the cataclysmic grief from our parents’ passing in Pearl Harbour. As the eldest among our siblings, now 15, I ought to be valorous. Obsessed with being strong, I never embodied my own emotions. All I did to grieve was what I imagine people do after a volcanic eruption; dig through dirt, ash and stone that cover their home because once, something beautiful existed there instead.
My sister grieves lost loved ones and the twins grieve the love they aren’t receiving. I sometimes grieve memories I could have made, sitting in parallel universes collecting dust.
SLAM! Sitaare, Jasmine’s twin, interrupted my thoughts, closing the door. He’s the calm before the storm, yet his storm never arrives. Jasmine’s storm, on the other hand, arrives quite frequently. She always had an elegance about her, traversing like a ballet dancer.
“We’re getting late!” Jasmine shouted, as I ran after her.
2 hours into our journey, Sitaare asked to stop at a diner. We’re about to enter when— BANG! An obstreperous sound bursts through the air. I glimpse Manhattan in flames, fires reaching a million miles high, before I’m pummelled down. It’s a BOMB!
I glance around, releasing a breath when I realise my siblings are okay. That’s when it hit me. My grandmother couldn’t have survived the cataclysm. I sob uncontrollably now, staring at ruins I once called my home. Sitaare and Tara are bawling too, but Jasmine’s fortitude galvanised into action.
“No matter what we feel, we need to stay alive! To escape before a second bomb drops. There’s a ship going to Canada today, where we sent the wedding gift for Aunt Diya. Let’s sneak in. Bina, use that car and drive us to the docks.”
I subjugate my feelings and limp over to the nearest car. After an arduous one-hour ride, we reach the back entry of the docks. Workers denied entry, but Sitaare found a hidden door. We rush inside the ship, each of us hiding in a barrel.
As we’re about to depart, a man stomped into the room. “Oy!” He shouted into the emptiness. “I ‘eard someone come ‘ere. Bet’er get out of these barrels before I knock ’em down!” He started smashing the barrels, dangerously close to Tara’s barrel when I leap out! The man takes his large stick and is about to smack me when Tara jumps out of her barrel, spinning around for a roundhouse kick in his neck! He fell unconscious as my smile fell. All barrels, except three, were ruined.
“Don’t you dare!” Tara whisper-screams, knowing I’m sacrificing myself for her.
“I have to,” I plead, “You deserve to live.”
“So do you.” She declares, her eyes brimming with tears, “Please stay.”
“I’m sorry. I love you. Goodbye, my star.”
I hug her, help her into the barrel and escape. My heart sink’s the further I get from them.
My body tight, I run towards what’s left of the port to take another ship. The entire street’s covered in brownish-red dust, buildings are on fire and a gruesome tableau of dead bodies litters the street. As I run, I notice a policeman in a grey coat, limping towards the port, his back towards me. I have to help him.
“Are you hurt?” I enquired.
The policeman spins around, his scarred face revealing ruthless anger. I pray to a lesser God I’ll escape unscathed. “Shut up! Nobody looking like you gets to survive!” My eyes widen. He was shouting because of my race? “Immigrants like you’re the reason people died! You deserve to rot in hell. Now, you will.” I shake my head, realising I’m oblivious to racism that still exists.
WAIT. Did he say I’m going to hell now? Is he- CRACK! His bullet SHOOTS through my thigh!
Before I process the pain, I’m knocked down by iron fists! My leg bleeds oceans of ooze and my hope shatters into splinters of diamond dust. The policeman walks away, my leg throbbing like the bomb burst inside of my body. I sit here, wailing, my efforts to stop the bleeding failing.
My life’s ending before I did anything meaningful. I want mundanity without being consumed by loss. I want memories without them being tainted because I worry about others. I want to live before I die. And now, I cannot.
Even now, I feel Tara’s ghostly embrace in my bloody arms. I wish I could fight to see her again, but I’m so, so tired. When we moved to America, we were drenched in promises of spring. All I find now are sorrow-filled veins, wilting flowers and thawed-out hearts poisoned by grief’s sting.
I’ll soon fade into the mists of antiquity, forgotten by this cruel world. I don’t want to die because I’m terrified there’s no afterlife; that this is it.
My entire existence, spent waiting, grieving and missing. Waiting to meet people who cease to exist, grieving the person I’ll never be and missing experiences I’ll never have. Nostalgia for the nonexistent consumes my identity.
I feel weak, my blood rushing out nearly as fast as I rushed through life. As I allow myself to give in to the abyss of eternity, I whisper to the void, “Goodbye, world. Please miss me.”