The Bomb exploded.
Dust and an unholy column of smoke bloomed upwards in the soldier’s vision; his face smashed up against reinforced glass. “Dang…” The nearly unintelligible sound left icy lips with potency, insignificant, yet it was able to drown out the multitude of screams that must have sounded below. He tore his face away as knuckles turned white against the window. A fervent plea echoed in his heart, let it have not been me who unleashed such horror.
His legs buckled. He slid to the floor, haunted by how any kind of hatred could justify such a hell. The ghosts of the innocent filled his sight as his eyes locked on the blurred stars and stripes across from him. He could almost feel the heat, the accusing eyes that would never look upon the world again. The knowledge that people were crying out in victory; filled with pride that they had struck a blow against the Japanese; sickened him. They had not seen what hatred had wrought. It is a mercy that war is so terrible; the vague outline of red, blue, and blurry stars mocking him from the opposite wall, lest man become fond of it.