Welcome To The New Age

I guess you could say I'm a little...different. Anything that might remind you of what it used to be like, you know, before the war, is not tolerated and is strictly disposed of immediately. If you had a tattoo, they forced you to get it removed. If you dyed your hair, they shave it all off and make you grow out your natural hair. Anything that might give you hope or even a sense of nostalgia is taken from you and there's nothing you can do about it.

And then there's me. When I said I was like every other American teenage girl, I really meant it. When the Japanese sent the bomb it was summer, around June. Everyone was out at the beach, having parties, going shopping, and doing whatever they felt like before school started in the fall. That summer was the year I had just turned thirteen and was technically classified as a teenager, according to my twelve-year-old logic of course. So what do I do? I go to get my hair dyed.

My hair is a sort of light brown color and comes down about four inches below my shoulders. Now imagine those four inches in a sort of aquamarine color. That was my biggest 'teenish rebellion' against my parents. The only reason I say it's a rebellion is because they hated the very idea and I managed to get one of my friends to help me dye it. Of course I didn't think to ask if the stuff was permanent, which it was. You can just imagine the complete look of horror on my parents face when I came home from that sleep over.

Of course this all happened about a week before the bombing. When the Japanese invaded everyone's homes, they took prisoners without question and with me being some what crafty, I managed to hide my hair by putting it in a carefully constructed bun. In the slave camp, it's required for females to place their hair in buns. The regulation is no hair allowed to fall below the nape of your neck, a violation of this rule earns you a day in confinement and what hair that hangs down is cut off. You can imagine the slight joy I took in this rule.

I sit in my cell now, hairband in my mouth and making my hair into a bun so it sits just so. Below me on the bottom bunk I hear my cellmate, Janie, humming to herself. I listen to it and try to figure out the tune. I peak over the side of my bunk and look upside down at her.

"Moves Like Jagger?"

"Correct~" She says in a singy song voice.

That was Janie's thing, she'd always sing or hum in the morning. Typically some pop song that just about everyone knew. She's the only one that knows about my hair and we've kind of sworn each other to secrecy. She wont tell the officers about my hair, and I wont tell them about her music note necklace. I see her glance down at it now before kissing it then tucking it into her jumpsuit. She said some boy had given it to her, but she never told me why. Every time I'd ask she'd just get all red and change the subject. I imagine it was a valentines gift or something, but you know, that's just me.

Just as I'm climbing down the bed the door to our cell opens with obnoxious clanging and screeching.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, this camp is a piece of crap. In the door way appears an officer, crisp white uniform, black combat boots, and a couple of red embellishments here and there. He's holding a baton and looking at us as if we're bugs under glass. He makes a very sharp motion suggesting we step out.

Not very many of the Japanese here know English so it's a lot of motions and signals that they direct us. Actually, I think only higher up military can speak our language. I hear it all the time when there's some kind of announcement and they ask the Lieutenant General around here to speak it over the intercom. Even his English isn't the best, but it's definitely amusing to listen to.

Seeing the three other officers behind him, we obey. One of them closes our cell and the other two latch hand cuffs onto our wrists. Well... This was new.

Oh, your soo screwed.

Ugh.

Just stating the obvious.

I don't need you to "state the obvious" right now, m'kay. Some assurance would be great.

Sorry, but you shouldn't lie to yourself like that.

Ignorance is bliss?

Kind of hard to be ignorant when you know exactly whats going on. That's just being fake.

...

This conversations over.