Mariko Ueda shuffled across the street toward the steel plant where her husband worked. In recent weeks, things had been fairly calm, but everyone was on high alert since three days before. Mariko did not have a strong education outside of keeping house for her husband as he worked for a greater Japan, but he had assured her that today would be a safe day. The forecast called for cloud cover over Nagasaki, which would prevent any bombs from dropping.
That he had forgotten his lunch was no one’s fault, but it was Mariko’s responsibility to get it to him. As she reached the door of the plant, she looked up and reflected that it wasn’t as covered as the forecast had said, but the air raid all-clear had been sounded over two hours before. She had to be safe. And it was good to see the sun.
All at once her body froze. She was unable to turn her head or move any part of her. The sun was blinding and she wanted to look away, but it was impossible. To her amazement, a voice seemed to come out of the sun itself, speaking perfect Japanese.
“Mariko?”
“Yes? Who is there?” She could not speak, but she heard herself say the words anyway.
“I do not have a great deal of time. Please listen carefully. Are you aware of the attack on Hiroshima recently? The bomb that could kill instantly?”
“Yes, I was told of it.”
“A second bomb has just been detonated above your city. Its killing effects are so quick that, in less than a second, you will be vaporized. You are perceiving time much faster than it is actually going. It is the same effect as a life flashing before your eyes.”
“I do not understand.”
“Then pass it by, for now. What is important is that you can live on, if you want.”
“You are a god, then?”
“It might be easiest for you to think of me as an animal spirit. Specifically, that of the horse. If you would live on, you must become a spirit of the horse, in miniature, yourself. But you must ask me, of your own free will, to come to my land, which is called Equestria.”
The sun seemed to grow dark, and the spirit of the horse appeared. It was beautiful, and reminded Mariko of the animated picture shows she had seen before the war. The Latin root of the last word that was spoken escaped her, but she was coming to grips with her situation.
“What of my husband? My children?”
“Your husband is undergoing the same choice you are right now. Of your children, Kumiko will die four seconds from now and be given the same choice. Makoto will survive the blast, but suffer an illness thirty-nine years from now. I will be there for him when the time comes, and you will be reunited. But please agree now. Time is running out, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“I don’t want to die! Take me to where I can be with my family!”
“Excellent.”