Saipan
Flash Fiction/Historical Fiction - Japanese Islanders in WWII learn their Emperor cannot protect them
Aiko and Hiroki shared the same first memory. When they were three, he wanted to play with her wind-up mechanical rabbit who wore a colorful suit and stood on hind legs. The young friends became inseparable. In the quiet village, their bedrooms faced each other across a narrow alleyway, so close that either child could wake in the night and hear the other breathe.
Over the next eleven years, their toys shifted from innocent curiosities to tanks and fighter planes, yet their make-believe world included only playful scenes because peace was all they knew.
In June of 1944, with the rest of the world at war, the youngsters didn’t fear. Their Emperor would protect them. And Saipan, their beautiful green island at the edge of the Philippine Sea, was impenetrable.
But those lies were shattered the night Americans introduced themselves with heavy artillery before coming ashore and burning soldiers in caves, bunkers, and pillboxes.
Surrender meant dishonor, each American death equaled victory for the Emperor, so the Japanese commander decreed any civilian still alive must participate in a suicide raid, pitting bamboo spears against howitzers and machine guns.
Without words, Hiroki and Aiko agreed to neither surrender nor kill. Instead, they held hands and love guided them away from the hostilities. Through the night, they raced across fields and beneath a canopy of trees. Mud from an unseen puddle found its way into Aiko’s shoes. The squishing sound betrayed weakness, yet she kept running. Sweaty hands embarrassed Hiroki but he would not let go. They fought exhaustion and continued toward the northern cliffs, believing their souls would release a blinding flash as their bodies burst upon rocks below.
But a shouting soldier stood in their way, his foreign uniform visible through the darkness. They’d heard Americans raped and ate whoever they captured, yet this unarmed man looked weak, tired, and small. His unintelligible voice lacked hope.
Unwavering in their rebellious desire to die in an act of pure love, Aiko and Hiroki ran toward the soldier. They instinctively released hands and rushed in opposite directions around him. While the American hesitated, not knowing whom to pursue, Hiroki dried his palm on his pants and Aiko kicked off her shoes without missing a step. At the cliff they rejoined hands and made a spectacular leap. Supported by trust and love, they hovered in mid-air, became one with open sky, until gravity intervened.
Though mortally wounded, both survived the fall, cushioned by the soft tissue of hundreds who plunged before them.
Disheartened by the absence of flashing light, they took their last breath together, under a deep blue predawn sky, and watched silhouettes of islanders fall like hail.
The ardent young couple became two brushstrokes in a macabre canvas of eight thousand bodies. Each hoped their death held meaning. Some leapt for love, others out of fear. Scores refused to kill and many succumbed to outlandish propaganda. The rest dreaded capture before they could take their own lives.
Yet the baffled invaders understood nothing. The meek American soldier, who’d begged Aiko and Hiroki not to jump, couldn’t comprehend the horror, meanwhile the generals barely shook their heads before congratulating themselves and plotting their next step toward atomic victory.
THE END
Originally published in Firewords (UK). February 10, 2020.
You can also watch my video reading of this story on my YouTube page.
Note: This flash fiction accurately depicts real events. I visited this island and these cliffs in 2009. Below are some photos from that visit. The locals jumped off several different cliffs and memorials abound.
