Chapter 2 Peace Day
When the family started out, the air was
already warm and dust hung over the busy
streets. Sadako ran ahead to the house of
her best friend, Chizuko. The two had been
friends since kindergarten.
Sadako was sure that they would always be
as close as two pine needles on the same
twig.
Chizuko waved and walked toward her.
Sadako sighed. Sometimes she wished that
her friend would move a bit faster. “Don’t
be such a turtle!” she shouted. “Let’s
hurry so we won’t miss anything.”
“Sadako chan, go slowly in this heat,” her
mother called after her. But it was too
late.
The girls were already racing up the
street.
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Mrs. Sasaki frowned. “Sadako is always in
such a hurry to be first that she never
stops to listen,” she said.
Mr. Sasaki laughed and said, “Well, did
you ever see her walk when she could run,
hop, or jump” There was pride in his voice
because Sadako was such a fast, strong
runner.
At the entrance to the Peace Park people
filed through the memorial building in
silence. On the
walls were photographs of the dead and
dying in a ruined city. The atom bomb —
the Thunderbolt — had turned Hiroshima
into a desert.
Sadako didn’t want to look at the
frightening pictures. She held tight to
Chizuko’s hand and walked quickly through
the building.
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“I remember the Thunderbolt,” Sadako
whispered to her friend. “There was the
flash of a million suns. Then the heat
prickled my eyes like needles.
“How can you possibly remember anything?”
Chizuko exclaimed. “You were only a
baby then.”
“Well, I do!” Sadako said stubbornly.
After speeches by Buddhist priests and the
mayor, hundreds of white doves were freed
from their cages. They circled the
twisted, scarred Atomic Dome. Sadako
thought the doves looked like spirits of
the dead flying into the freedom of the
sky.
When the ceremonies were over, Sadako led
the others straight to the old lady who
sold cotton candy. It tasted even better
than last year.
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The day passed too quickly, as it always
did. The best part, Sadako thought, was
looking at all the things to buy and
smelling the good food. There were stalls
selling everything from bean cakes to
chirping crickets. The worst part was
seeing people with ugly whitish scars.
The atom bomb had burned them so badly
that they no longer looked human. If any
of the bomb victims came near Sadako, she
turned away quickly.
Excitement grew as the sun went down. When
the last dazzling display of fireworks
faded from the sky, the crowd carried
paper lanterns to the banks of the Ohta
River.
Mr. Sasaki carefully lit candles inside of
six lanterns — one for each member of the
family. The lanterns carried names of
relatives who had died because of the
Thunderbolt.
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Sadako had written Oba chan’s name on the
side of her lantern. When the candles were
burning brightly, the lanterns were
launched on the Ohta River. They floated
out to sea like a swarm of fireflies
against the dark water.
That night Sadako lay awake for a long
time, remembering everything about the
clay. Masahiro was wrong, she thought. The
spider had brought good luck. Tomorrow she
would remind him about that.
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