This is Justin from The Generation Y, and we're doing a four-part series

on rambling the story of Khalif Browder, a young boy falsely accused of stealing a backpack

and held at Rikers Island for three years without trial. This story is about a young life caught

in the middle of the justice system. Listen to Generation Y on Amazon Music or wherever you get your

podcast. Just a warning out there, this is a pretty gruesome first-hand account, and so if you

would choose not to listen to it, please fast forward a few minutes. The mid-summer sun was

already glaring on the morning of August 6, 1945. After the all-clear signal following the air

raid warning, everything went back to normal, with people busy doing their own business.

Going on an errand to a post office in Mayuki Bashi under the scorching sun, I could not

bear the heat anymore, so I turned back home to fetch my parasol. I was just about to open the

parasol at the threshold when an intense flash burst upon me. The flash was a yellowish orange color,

just like the magnesium light but hundreds of times stronger. I instinctively rushed back into

the house and laid myself down on my stomach as had been trained in evacuation drills.

Stepping outside, I found the clear blue sky had turned dim as if it were at dusk.

Dust in the air blocked the view across the river. The place was filled with an indescribable smell.

Pulling myself together, I looked back at my house to see if my mother was all right. Her hair was

a mess and standing on end. Her lips were cracked and her head bleeding. She stood there like some

unearthly creature. Then I saw my younger brother staggering about with his white cotton

kimono soaked with blood. Are you both all right, I asked? That's my blood. He's not hurt,

replied my mother. We carried her on a stretcher to the Mutual Aid Hospital where the doctor

showed up the cuts in her lips, jaws, and shoulders. But he did not do anything for her wounded

wrist as it had already been given first aid. Because of this, it took a long time before the wound

...