[Hisao] Tornado Warning

Tornado Warning


My eyes sting.

It's almost like someone's just been standing in front of me, tossing dirt and sand into them. I can't tell if it's the rain drops free-falling out of the clouds or tears of my own trickling down my cheeks, but either one seems appropriate.

My wife stands with her arms wrapped around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder as I continue my staring contest with the slab of stone in front of me.

Her breathing is light, almost soothing in a time of frustration and regret, in my ear. It's always had that sort of calming effect, something that I would honestly say is one of her greatest qualities.

The ability to calm me down.

The ability to keep me sane upstairs at a time where it's a nearly impossible challenge.

My eyes trail down to my feet, a glimpse of my mixed light and dark gray sweater vest causing a slight distraction.

It's what he would have wanted me to wear.

He always complained during our debriefs about how I could pull off such a hideous and feminine look as powerful and high ranked being.

I was his right hand man, just those few short years ago.

A sudden clearing of the throat from Lilly brings me back to reality, her shortened blonde hair, a much different style from the days of high school and even university, tickling the back of my neck as she brings her lips close to my ear.

“I will be in the car, okay? Don't be too long, as hard as I know this is for you. It's getting rather late.”

She trails her fingers along my arm until she finds my hand, gripping it rather intensely. I return the gesture, though in a much more weak manner than what she had.

“Okay.”

I try to pull my hand away from hers, but she doesn't let go.

“You will get through this, Hisao. I promise with every ounce of my body that I'll be there every step of the way.”

She finally releases me, reaching into her bag and pulling out her retractable cane, using it as a guide down the cobblestone path to the car.

Once she's finally into the vehicle and without of earshot, I turn my body back to the grave before me.

Why?

Why did it have to end like this? Through all of the struggles we overcame, through everything that this man had to fight through just to live and lead our army to a victorious outcome at the end of the war, he had to die of something so small.

At least, in my mind, it just seems like a roadblock.

Cancer? Like he would have said, and I quote him on the topic of illness and weakness: 'Illness is for the weak and weakness is for the ill. If you can stay out of either category, you will never be involved with the other. It's all a controlled mindset, so you best break your shit out of it.'

Those words have stuck with me for, what has it been now? Five years? Seven?

I can't remember, honestly.

All I envision anymore is the bullets pushing out of the barrel of a gun. The sound correlates with lightning, nearly sending me into a fit every time we get a storm during the summer.

Yet, through my own learning process, I've fought through it.

I have no weakness. I will not allow myself to, especially not in the public eye.

The only person who knows my little secret is Lilly, and that's because she's the woman, and the only one at that, that I can honestly say that my life is entrusted to.

I remember meeting her again as our troops were touring through Northern Japan. She had been hiding out with her sister, mother and father, the latter two just coming in for a visit as the war had begun to blow up into a full on conflict.

Not all women were like them.

Not even all men were trustworthy by the end of my time that I served.

I've heard it all over the years.

'Maybe we should have just surrendered. We lost X amount of men and Y amount of resources, yet they make us suffer just to get their freedom. What if the feminist ideals are the best for us all? Damn man, maybe joining in on this resistance bullshit was a bad idea.'

The rain continues to fall around me, even picking up in the volume as I can feel the wetness soaking through my vest and dress shirt.

The ground is beginning to turn to mud; and maybe that's what it deserves.

What I deserve.

I'm showing my weakness right now. Tears don't come out of a man who has any amount of strength left in his body.

But, I really have no strength left in me. The years of war and hard discipline have left me mentally and physically exhausted, even if I only am a now middle-aged man.

I crouch down, the position made greatly uncomfortable from my somewhat tight pair of black dress pants.

Drops of rain splash off of the tombstone as I begin to cry even harder.

It should have been me.

The second in command. The nice guy who 'never got anyone ready for the war', according to some of my equal ranking officers.

Everyone saw me as that guy who was there for comfort. I fought in battles, scars remaining on my legs and arms from shrapnel and near-death experiences with bullets.

They represent who I am. A hardened veteran, but that man who never became hardened enough to not care about those around him.

I took two bullets for soldiers that I saw as family.

I see those scars as reminders that there are people who owe me their lives just as much as I owe them my own.

The people who I still fight and live for today.

I reach my hand forward and rub dirt off of the engraving on the tombstone, a bittersweet smile finding my lips as I read the lines aloud.

“Kenji Setou – Commander in Chief, The Freedom Resistance. 1989-2025.”




“Tornado Warning” is a song produced by Hammock