VOSHN 135

<body><a href="../index.html">HOME</a><br><table summary="127"><tr><td class="etesti">127</td><td class="edate">Before August 15<sup>th</sup>, 1945</td><td class="eage">19 years old at that time</td></tr><tr><td class="ei_midasi" colspan=3>Like old ragged futons that were drenched with oil.</td></tr></table><div class="largep"><p>For it had been long since we were bombed, the flash burns on everyone's body decayed and were gooey like old rags.</p><p>Such people were carried into a community center one after another.</p><br><p>Anyway, they were just as worn-out futons were kneaded and piled up on top of each other, but they were people.  There were like old ragged futons that were drenched with oil.</p><p>They looked as if they, human beings, were kneaded and piled-up like futons at the corner.  So, our wounds were tiny things.  We all felt so sorry that we said to each other, "Let's go back home."  So did we.</p></div></body>