As the men talked quietly, I imagined Kaori, my college roommate’s aunt. The family chronicle was recounted by her uncle—the deaths of his wife and daughter. Aunt Kaori, he said, had groped for her baby who had slipped away from her, but could not move because only stumps and cascades of dark blood remained where her legs had been. Her slippery child, still trying to scream as charred black peeled off her cheek, died. Kaori managed to touch its thigh. Like Kaori and her daughter, one hundred thousand others perished instantly after that first still moment. And like my roomate’s surviving uncle, many more were never again entirely alive.
KeywordsAtomic Bomb Atomic Energy Commission Almond Shell Manhattan Project Sunday Morning
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