PROLOGUE
HIROSHIMA, AUGUST 6TH, 1945.
The sun, with its vibrant warmth rose into a clear blue sky over the city, a promising and pleasant day. Nothing in the day's dawning indicated that it would be any different from its predecessors. I walked down the quiet streets, a card that read Dr Shuntaro Hachiya displayed upon my jacket. I was excited. It was my first day of duty at the Shima Hospital and I have to say, I was feeling great about this.
The hour was early; the morning still, warm, and beautiful. I grin to myself as I walk, passing some old friends working the bakery. I wave but continue on my path. It was my first day after all. I see some young boys in the streets, already up and about, kicking a red ball around without a care in the world. Finally the ball rolls to me. I smile and as usual, I balance the ball on my foot, showing off some football tricks I picked up the UK. I wasn't a bad player, but I was no Stanley Matthews.
I glance at my watch and tell the kids that I have to go. It was fun while it lasted, but I had work to do. I hear a low rumbling, an engine in the distance, but apart from that, well, it felt peaceful.
I had been pining for a position at Shima Hospital, it was an inexpensive clinic with rather high standards of treatment. I guess I was more than honoured to be accepted and with my semi-British background as well.
At last I see the clinic up ahead— a two storey building of brick construction with reinforced walls and a rather modern design.
Shimmering leaves, reflecting sunlight from a cloudless sky made a pleasant contrast with shadows in the surrounding gardens. I see a child emerge from within, one of my mentors had just released a boy who had yesterday undergone some surgery to his head, successfully I might add. I see him now, coming out to bid farewell the grateful mother.
He had told me once that the hospital was going to make a change to the world. Cheap and accessible medical care, we needed more of that. Often I'd smile as I passed the hospital, so long ago when it was a little out of reach. Strange, how well one recall little and somewhat trivial things that I remember vividly, how a stone lantern in the garden where the boys were playing had become brilliantly lit and I debated whether it was caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a trolley. I hear the grumble again and look back to see the boys looking and pointing up. I followed them, as I stood there, looking up I saw a shower of papers whooshing ahead and away from us, blown away in the morning wind.
Luckily I had already packed a pair of binoculars in my bag. Through them I saw a small silhouette of a plane, covered by a layer of clouds. Then I see another form separated from the plane. It was hurtling down. At once I saw what it was and I dared to say I was frightened. It was a giant bullet shaped object, falling at an alarming rate that I feared for what it could…no wait…it's different. The bullet shaped object had begun to break apart, a shell for what contained inside.
All around me there were gasps. For me, I was silent but not by choice for I found myself unable to speak, unable to move. The object, the capsule falling down—what was inside had taken yet another form as it came closer and my looking device had better focus. A humanoid man was what I saw, a big blueish man in the foetal position hurtling down like it was about to make a bomb into a swimming pool. Then, as it picked up even more speed, it started to glow.
Suddenly a strong flash of light startles me—and another one. Garden shadows disappeared. The view where a moment ago had been so bright and sunny was now dark and hazy.
I followed the glowing man with my eyes as it descended upon…no!
Shima Hospital had been a great inspiration to me. Something to be proud of my own nation for, in a time of war and death, what better way to see such travesties than the actions taken to preserve as much life as possible. Now it was ground zero for a tragedy that I scarcely believed was happening as houses around me collapsed, I too was knocked down and….I well I cannot recall, nor do I seem to want to. All I hear is a constant ringing in my ears, drumming like sirens in my head. A bit tipsy, I try to get myself up though only halfway. I was disoriented, even as the ringing stopped.
What I do remember was that soon after, I heard a deafening BOOOM! The man, now a powerfully radiant blue glow before finally combusting into a massive ball of colours which just expanded and expanded just above the Shima, into a blinding light that encapsulated the hospital…and soon me.
A wall of dust and debris was coming right at me like an enraged beast, a menacing thicket of dust and something else. It enveloped the landscape before me, as for me, I just sat there, on my knees, as helpless as a newborn child, I hadn't even realised it but tears streamed down the side of my cheeks. When it hit—when I found myself within this wall of death, I was nearly thrown back by the sheer force, but my body, blazing, melting in the radiation.
Soon…in the pain, everything else became but a blur, a blur that transformed into that of unconsciousness—and then…
-=O=-
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The main purpose of writing any type of fiction usually transcends mere story telling. Sometimes I find it difficult to maintain original notions, the same ones I had when first I begin my stories. Perhaps Superheroes may not need to have any sort of high message in their stories, to go back to their original simplistic forms, but sometimes I find that whether or not Comic Superheroes like Spider-Man, Batman, Black Widow or Superman have a deeper outlook on philosophical approach to real world issues, I'm hard-pressed to say that the world has accepted them as anything more than picture books of characters dressed in their underwear doing silly things.
It's a sad notion, that the world still cannot see a deeper argument and find an idea of hope common within them all, and sometimes I see it slowly effect writers Comic Book or otherwise. As if in order to be "Realistic" one cannot find the notion of hope or faith in the answers, in the truth. Take Superman and Zack Snyder and Dave Goyer's approach to the Superman myths, claiming a "realistic" approach to Superman had taken out much of the hopeful feeling within the films especially in BvS with the introduction of an already dark Batman. But alas, if you come to think about it, it's what people asked for, it's what the studios and executives wanted. One needs only to watch a YouTube reviews on anything Superman related and you'll see it. Now this work I feel I want more than anything to try and address the political state of the world, something I wished BvS would focus more on instead. Maybe have Lex as a partner to General Sam Lane and the government trying to bring down both Batman and Superman because their very existences were statements against them. Yes the message in BvS and even MoS was admirable but it felt forced. Having people state that Superman can't help but help others is not enough, having people say that Superman is kind or Clark Kent is a "nerd" isn't enough. Also, having Martha restate 'People fear what they don't understand,' was stupid and useless seeing as Jon Kent said that exact same thing in MoS, word for word.
Now I'm getting ahead of myself, as a disclaimer, I do not own any of these characters who are tethered to DC Publications and Warner Bros. I must also apologise for my depiction of the last moments in the Hiroshima bombing if it is inaccurate or seems insensitive of me.
Again I also find myself torn about how to go about writing this. I had felt it could be a direct follow up to Superman: Arisen or I could just write one separate from it in terms of exact details of events from that first work but keeping where my characters are in now from Arisen. For example, I wanted now more to change the name of Leanna Luthor to Alexis Luthor so she maintains a shadow of villainy as Lex Luthor, or even a fresh first meeting between Clark Kent and Diana Prince. I could really use some insight on what you guys think. Straight out sequel or Fresh Follow-Up adventure.