Theme 10: Breathe Again
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
To Japan, even the simplest of tasks were now impossible. Blinking hurt. Moving hurt. Any sort of facial expression hurt.
The worst pain came when he breathed. Breathe in—a sharp, stabbing pain. Breathe out—a slightly duller but even worse pain that lasted until his next inhale.
He knew he had two horrible burns on his upper chest somewhere, from the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
He knew that the heartache he had was not only from the bombs, but also from the pain of his people.
He knew that if he didn't surrender soon, America would keep attacking him.
He knew all this, but he didn't want to.
Or rather, he didn't care.
All he was focused on was trying to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale, he told himself. Ignore the pain. Stay alive for the sake of your people.
But nearly everyone is dead or dying, no?
He mentally reprimanded himself, but that little part of him remained. If a nation's people die, the nation dies, he thought.
What if all of my people die?
Various scenarios ran through his mind's eye, and for a moment he panicked.
Then he refocused on reminding himself: Breathe in, breathe out. Ignore the pain. Inhale, exhale.
When will I be able to breathe again?
A/N: I'm pretty sure I'm the only person alive who writes major angst and stuff like this while on vacation at the beach.
Oh well.
Japan after the atomic bombings. Yeah. I don't know why the burns from the bombs are on his chest, it just seems like a good place for them to be for some reason.