White Chrysanthemum by Mary Lynn Bracht

Author:Mary Lynn Bracht
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

Hana

Manchuria, Summer 1943

The sun’s early rays creep across the horizon. Hana moves farther away from the road. Her feet are bloody from the stones and sticks on the rugged path. The night was quiet, with only a single truck rumbling down the road. She hid behind a shrub in the ditch as it passed, but she knows that as morning nears, a shrub won’t hide her from their eyes. She suffered from a bitterly cold wind that suddenly swept through overnight, and the bright sun is a welcoming sight.

The dry grass pokes through the sores on her feet. If Morimoto is looking for her, he will only have to follow the trail of blood she is leaving behind. Hana stops and listens to the empty countryside every ten minutes as she catches her breath, on the alert for footsteps, heavy in boots, behind her. He’s out there somewhere, enraged that she would dare betray him. The thought of his anger sends prickles across her skin. She runs faster as the sun rises on her first day of freedom.

Careful to keep the road to her left, she continues heading south. The land is beautiful. Gentle hills rise and fall in the distance. The grass on the plains reaches up to her waist. She can sit in the field and hide from intruding eyes. After a few miles, her feet cannot go any farther, so she sinks to her knees and relishes her new hiding space, careful not to look at her bloody feet. Insects buzz and chirrup all around her. Tiny yellow flowers bloom on tall stalks. Arms from the earth beckon her toward the ground. Lying here like this, safe from the world, she could have already left this life. Only the pain from her throbbing feet reminds her that she is indeed still alive.

Hana knows she must keep moving as Morimoto is surely hunting her down, but her feet beg her to stay put, just a while longer. She gazes into the sky and watches the clouds transform themselves into an assortment of shapes. A serpent erupts from the mouth of a whale, which splits into a sea of burial mounds before fading into faint wisps. They remind her of Morimoto’s cigarette smoke, drifting out of the cracks of her room window. The thought of him gives her chills, his hands on her body, his hunger sucking the breath from her lungs. Hatred fills her and her heartbeat quickens. She sits up and listens to the sounds around her. Would she hear him coming?

She looks down at her swollen feet. Caked in black earth mixed with blood, they cannot be ignored any longer. She grabs a handful of grass and rubs them mostly clean. She endures the pain without making a sound. A bird sings its song nearby. The wind kisses her face. She finds a thorn lodged in a wound in the ball of her foot. It’s in quite deep, and she has to dig her fingers nearly past the first layer of flesh before she reaches it.

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