Demon Tongue
Yes, kids cry when they see me. No, I don’t always take advantage of the situation.
I visited Hiroshima this week. It is a beautiful city grown from ash. We took the shinkansen, a sleek white eel of a train that bolts through the rice paddies and towering cities, a smear of gray and green across the side window. After the shiny white tail streaked out of view, we stood on the platform mouths agape, looking at our maps and the impossible distance we’d just traversed in the blink of an eye. “Are you sure we’re actually here?” my roommate said, staring up at the sign that read HIROSHIMA.
The town itself is the very definition of bustling, shiny red trolley cars running hoards of people here and there, while narrow curry shops waft sweet spices through glittery tunneled arcades. You can’t walk two blocks without running into a peace memorial or waterfall bedazzled park. It’s amazing to think the city was leveled sixty years ago. I won’t devastate you with the details (though if anyone wants to talk about Einstein’s feelings about the bomb, I’m all ears), but we were silenced by the flapping articles hung amongst the swaying chains of Sadako’s thousand paper cranes in Peace Memorial Park. The silence lasted through the museum and most of the trolley ride out.
We hope you’ve enjoyed this consistent string of comics. Starting today, we’re back to our old schedule posting a new comic every Sunday with blogs and bonus content throughout the week.
-Christian
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