I am one who saves lives and it sickened me to watch the battle unfold outside. Inside was not better, it was possibly worse. The burned, bleeding bodies lay everywhere, for the beds had long since been taken. The voices I will remember forever, their piteous cries echo in my mind. The blood was a livid stain, spreading over me, through me, from everything. The red blood of sailors mixed with the oil blood of ships and planes. The painful tears of blood wept from torn bodies to stain everything. Yet some were oddly untouched, perfect except for one thing. They were dead. My roommate and friend was one of them. She looked as though she were sleeping, face and hair unmarred by ash, blood or debris. But she was dead, shot in the stomach. And the raid to bomb Tokyo that took the two men I love and sent them into the heart of the enemy, that was a night that, to me, will live in infamy. The raid itself did not accomplish much; it did not destroy an entire fleet or terrorize a nation, but it showed Japan that we were willing to fight. And the two men that raid took were pilots, flying in an aerial maneuver never before attempted. They both came back, but one was heartbroken and the other was lying dead in a coffin. My heart weeps for them, both of them. One for losing his best and closest friend, the other for losing his future and his life. But we will survive, he and I, all three of us, actually. One in flesh and blood, one in spirit, both in my heart, bound with love.