“My wish is that there comes a day when there are no more nuclear weapons in this world.

Sado Ikuko”

“On the morning of August 6, my one-year-old sister and I were sent over to my grandmother’s house in Kaminagarekawa-cho. At around 8:15, we were playing in the backyard under the blazing summer sun. My grandmother’s house was 870m from the hypocenter.

As soon as I heard the pika! don (Japanese onomatopoeia for the atomic bomb blast), my sister and I were knocked off our feet and blown far from where we were playing. I suffered minor burns on my hands and forehead. My little sister, on the other hand, was wearing only a light dress due to the summer heat and suffered burns all over her body. Her skin was ulcerated and draped limply over her limbs.

Our family house – a wooden structure – was wiped out instantaneously due to the blast and set ablaze by the 3,000-5,000°C heat wave. We no longer had a home amidst the flames and rubble, so my grandmother and I decided to carry my wounded sister to the higashi-renpeijo (eastern military training grounds). We proceeded toward the Enkoubashi bridge to get to the training grounds. Mountains of rubble lined the path. We swatted away embers and smoke as we walked. People with severe burns begged along the side of the street. ‘Give me water! Please – give me water!’ they screamed. Some had fallen in the river and were begging for help.  Others were floating in the river, lifeless. It was as if we were walking through hell.

I’m not certain how many hours it took, but we finally arrived at the eastern military training grounds. My sister’s burns were serious – her shoulders, neck, chest, hands, and legs were red and inflamed, and her dress was drenched with blood. We asked the military doctor for help. We were told to wait our turn. I remember the anger I felt, to this day. There were numerous blackened corpses scattered throughout the training grounds. The area was brimming with people screaming in agony from festering burns, or sobbing loudly to lament a lost one. It was as if we were being sucked into hell.

The next morning, I woke up to my sister crying. When I checked on her, maggots were feeding on her wounds. My sister was thrashing her legs about – due to the itchiness, perhaps. I asked the military doctor for a pair of chopsticks and removed the maggots. Her cries subsided and she soon fell asleep.

On August 8 – two days after the bombing – my sister’s body grew colder and colder, and she passed away. Her face, I recall, was very beautiful. The next day at around five in the evening, we borrowed a dolly from a military officer and took my sister’s body and some firewood to a nearby park. We cremated her.

The park had transformed into an impromptu cremation ground. Bodies were shuffled in one by one; military officers poured oil on them and set them alight. It was a particularly hot time of year, so the decay was quick and the smell was potent. A military officer ordered us to pick up my sister’s ashes and place it into a can. We took her back with us to our tent in the military grounds, which we now called home.”