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"At the Makeshift Aid Station"
You girls— weeping even though there is no place for your tears to come from; crying out even though you have no lips to shape the words; struggling even though you have no skin on your fingers to grasp anything with— you girls.
Your limbs twitch, oozing blood and greasy sweat and lymph; your eyes, puffed to slits, glitter whitely; only the elastic bands of your panties hold in your swollen bellies; you are wholly beyond shame even though your private parts are exposed: who could think that a little while ago you all were pretty schoolgirls?
Emerging from the flames flickering gloomily in burned-out Hiroshima no longer yourselves, you rushed out, crawled out one after the other, struggled along to this grassy spot, in agony laid your heads, bald but for a few wisps of hair. on the ground. Why must you suffer like this? Why must you suffer like this? For what reason? For what reason? You girls don't know how desperate your condition, how far you have been transformed from the human.
You are simply thinking, thinking of those who until this morning were your fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters (would any of them know you now?) and of the homes in which you slept, woke, ate (in that instant the blossoms in the hedge were torn off; now even their ashes are not to be found)
thinking, thinking— as you lie there among friends who one after the other stop moving— thinking of when you were girls, human beings.
—Toge Sankichi (Translated from the Japenese by Richard H. Minear)
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