Hiroshima at the Bus Stop Oct 14 '03    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Mildred D. Taylor - Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry: A Literature Unit From $8 Olivier Dunrea - Ollie From $7 The Bottom Line Good creative outlet. This is taking hyperbole and adding it to a common event. I am trying to sort of cross thoughts of some one on the day of August 6, 1945, just before the bomb fell, with some one trying to catch the school bus. Hiroshima at the Bus Stop I think I hear a siren. A quick glance out the window reveals the bus is there, I grab my lunch like it is the last thing I will ever take with me, Maybe it is. The door opens without me, all I know is I got past it. I run across my yard and in an instant I’m in the driveway, a distance that usually gives my attention to the bleeding grass, or the ethnically diverse leafs. Forget the leafs, there’s only one thing important now. My mind is in overdrive, thoughts race through it, all of the same thing, survival. I take to the street, running for the bus, like usual I’m the only one in the marathon. Like usual there are thousands of others with me all rushing to get there, Every one try’s to be calm, no one is. Victory’s of the last 4 years are no where to be thought of, everyone knows there are cowboys on the doorstep, not in the prairie where they belong. Two more house lengths and I’m at the deliver of knowledge, for an instant I notice the clear sky, a radiant blue, not a cloud in site. I see the vapor trails in the otherwise flawless sky, why do such horrible things happen on the nicest of days. Can’t get distracted, I don’t want to be with the deliver of knowledge, not yet. The bus driver must see me, she hasn’t pulled away yet. I won’t be late to school today. I can feel Little Boy creeping up behind me. Have to move faster. I’m almost inside the bomb shelter. A few steps more and I’ll be safe. I think. And I’m there. I take my first step onto the bus and thank the bus driver for not leaving without me. I take my seat as the bus starts to move. I make it inside the shelter, relief sweeps over me. The last thought I have, implanted in my mind from elsewhere, “Here’s for Pearl Harbor, Tojo.”

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