The voices told what had happened after the atomic bombs fell, like the whispered words of ghosts. Can you imagine a wind so strong that it ripped a man’s face away where he stood? Can you imagine how internal organs exploded, clothes ans bodies burst into flames, disintegrated on the spot? Can you envision a mushroom cloud formed by smoke and debris that could be seen for miles and miles by the naked eye, followed by a black rain falling, black tears they called it, radiation spreading in its wake? Those who died were the lucky ones, the voices continued. Those who lived through it would never be the same.
— The Street of a Thousand Blossoms by Gail Tsukiyama [Regarding the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki] (via thatsanctimoniousbitch)