The sparkling and agile fireflies flying all over the sky, together with the bombs whistling sharply above her head, constituted the whole sky of her childhood.
When she pointed to the most common unclaimed corpse of that era with wide innocent eyes and asked her brother why this man was lying here, when she cried loudly to take the mother who was about to be sold from her aunt. When the clothes said that she would wear them after she was discharged from the hospital, when she knew nothing about death and silently shed tears and built a small grave for her mother with her little hands, what else could I say. When the soft childhood that was blown away was confronted with a war that was sharper than a drill and a steel knife, the tearing sound of the separation of flesh and blood made me cover my ears and couldn't bear to hear it. There is nothing in this world that can be more sad and heart palpitating than this collision of ignorance and cruelty.
And her brother supported her short childhood with his bloody shoulders. He carries all her happiness. She carried all his hopes. He fought back the tears of losing his mother, in order to coax her to be happy, he forced a laugh and performed the horizontal bar for him, and he prayed for more bombs so that she could eat even a little bit of nutritious food instead of rotting frogs and rotten fish, so that he could take risks. risking their lives to steal food from a burning house. In the end, the younger sister was still thin to a skeleton, closing her eyes forever in her attachment to her brother, and his sky disintegrated in an instant.
The death of the two brothers and sisters is an inevitable ending, and such stories are not uncommon, but my heart still hurts again, the kind of pain that is involved like seeing a young chick being swallowed alive.
Goodbye, war.
View more about Grave of the Fireflies reviews
