VOSHN 250

<body><a href="../index.html">HOME</a><br><table summary="233"><tr><td class="etesti">233</td><td class="edate">August 10<sup>th</sup>, 1945.  In the morning</td><td class="eage">30 years old at that time</td></tr><tr><td class="ei_midasi" colspan=3>Yellow snot, red snot, and blue snot.</td></tr></table><table summary="haikei"><tr><td class="bg" background="../../photo/img608.jpg"><div class="large"><p>I went to the area swept by the flames with my children.  On my way, I heard many voices saying, "Give me water..., give me water..." from here and there.  I felt sorry for them and sometimes just turned back to take a brief look at them.  Another American aircraft came flying.  We didn't have any places and shelters to go.  At that time, leaving mountains for the burned-out area meant that one prepared to die.</p><br><p>Everyone tried to persuade me not to leave the mountain, but I really hoped to get my children to see their father, who was thought to be somewhere in this burnt-out area.</p><br><p>Dead people were lying on their back.  They had runny noses.  Their snot was as long as a little finger.  Each of the snot had different colors.  They were yellow, red and blue.</p><br><p>The most miserable scene was that a boy, who was like a junior high school student, was dead with a reinforcing bar stuck in his back.  He was lying with his hands and feet up, just like a frog was pierced its back with a stick.</p><p>I kept making my way with my children.</p> </div></td></tr></table></body>