Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: MIX (10/22/15)
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TITLE: The Fragrance of Freedom | Previous Challenge Entry
By Loni Bowden-Horn
10/29/15 -
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A swarm of uniformed officers piled out of the trucks and buses armed with rifles affixed with bayonets.
"Hey Jap, fill out your name on this ticket,” hissed the officer. “So how does it feel to have Japanese blood coursing through your veins?”
I cowered behind my father as the guard handed him the tags stamped with an assigned family number. I attached a tag to my coat and to each of my bags. I was only allowed to bring any possessions I could carry.
“Pretty soon you’ll be at the camp where you can mix with your own kind,” sneered the soldier.
I was an American citizen. I grew up in a home mixed with Western and American cultures. My parents were of Japanese descent.
I and other countless Japanese detainees were herded like cattle aboard a transport.
As the bus rumbled along to an undetermined destination, I noticed every shrub and bush was brown and dry—tumbling across the desert plains. The rocky terrain had miles and miles of spindly saguaro cacti that nestled against the Arizona border.
When I arrived at the detention center, I gagged at the stench coming from a horse stable which was my new home. The sparsely furnished room had five metal cots crammed into an 8 feet by 20 feet space. My mattress was a bag filled with hay. There was one window to look out and no other furniture existed in this stark room.
I stooped down to console my mother who had dropped to her knees and begun to sob at the deplorable conditions of our new place. Dust was seeping up from the gaps in the floor boards and through the slits of the walls.
I felt stripped of all privacy. My every movement watched. The presence of armed guards patrolling the barbed-wire perimeter of the camp was alarming. No one dared cross the while line painted along the dusty path or risked being shot.
This desolate land had dried up all my hopes and dreams.
“What had I done to deserve this?” My outstretched arms held up a Buddha statue. I longed to clear my consciousness of all strife. My thoughts were centered on peace and tranquility. I didn’t feel any different. Nothing had changed.
Each step I took plunged me further into the scorching sand of this barren desert land. The harsh sun beat down mercilessly upon me, offering me no relief from this thick and impermeable air.
Out of the corner of my eye, a lizard scurried in the shadows of the rocks for shelter where the dirt was not hot enough to bake it. I envied his freedom. I longed to find a place to hide.
A stifling wind kicked up an eddy that spewed stinging particles of dust into my eyes. I pulled a scarf around my nose and mouth to keep from choking.
The warmth of the sun stirred up memories of Thanksgiving in a blended Japanese-American household. My mind began to play tricks on me.
I could envision my mama’s kitchen would be filled with a fragrant bouquet of aromas as she mixed together various spices to put into the stuffing.
Along with the usual fare of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, my mother prepared traditional Japanese food such as tsukemono (pickled vegetables), sliced sashimi (raw fish), and oden (a Japanese hot-pot filled with fish cakes and other vegetables). A bowlful of plain rice was a staple at each meal.
I was jolted back to reality. There would be no Thanksgiving this year.
I lost my appetite when I noticed a greasy, square piece of meat, with a thick salty gel had been placed on my plate. There was no rice or chopsticks.
When I arrived at school, my teacher bent over to comfort a tear-stained young lady.
She said Isaiah a prophet of God foretold of Jesus the Messiah offering “a hiding place from the wind, a shelter from the storm…the shadow of a great rock in a weary land… a river of water in a dry place.” (Isaiah 32:2)
My teacher told me of the one true God. He sent his son named Jesus to save us from our sin. His own people called the Jews would not mingle with him. Jesus was rejected and despised even though He had done nothing wrong.
As the blood of Jesus intermingled with my soul, I felt the flame of freedom consume me.
*****
My story is fictional, but many of the places, events and circumstances are based on historical facts.
Following the bombing of Pearl Harbor, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, which forced the removal of all Japanese citizens along the West Coast of the United States into hastily built internment camps. Approximately 120,000 Japanese, two-thirds of who were American citizens were forced into internment camps. It should be noted that during the war, there was never an incident of espionage involving any Japanese living in the U.S.A.
Internments by Susan C Hoe. Copyrighted in 2013
The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom and Elizabeth and John Sherrill. Copyrighted in 1971 and 1984 by Corrie ten Boom and Elizabeth and John Sherrill. Copyrighted in 2006 by Elizabeth and John Sherrill.
Published by Chosen Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group in Grand Rapids, MI
www.Biblegate.com
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It seemed that the transition to the ending was slightly abrupt since the reader had not been introduced to the teacher yet. However, it was very well written.
History could repeat itself here again.
Well written with good graphics.
I noticed a couple of tiny things like this line could be tightened tot something like this:
Uniformed officers, armed with rifles affixed with bayonets, swarmed from trucks and buses. (I cut five words and turned swarmed into a our feet verb.) Your way was by no means wrong nor mine better; I just wanted to show how switching the sentence structures up some and tightening can change the pacing.
I do wish you used more dialog or thoughts (just the thoughts should be in italics-- I was jolted back to reality--not a thought{pretty sure it was an accident that it was in italics, but thought I'd mention it for others who may not have understood}), especially in the begining. I know that can take up more words, but by tightening up, you could have something like this:
At school, my teacher bent over a sobbing woman. "Shh, it's going to be okay. God's prophet Isaiah predicted that Jesus, the Messiah, would provide his people a hiding place from the storm."
I tapped her shoulder. "Is it really true? Will he even protect me, a Buddhist?"
She smiled and nodded. "You, too are his child. He loves you so much that he even died on the cross for your sins."
You're probably thinking, only Shann would critique a first place entry. It's probably true, but I hope you know it comes from a place of love and a desire to help you become the best writer possible. My feedback has some liberties in it to demonstrate my point, but even those were a part of your outstanding voice. I think as authors, we can never quite finish a story. Mark Twain is known for saying something like he'll know he's done with the rewrites when he dies. You do have a solid foundation, and I've loved watching you blossom into the writer you are becoming. Telling stories like this is so vital lest we ever forget. You certainly touched my heart. Congratulations on your 1st place win in level one. I can't wait to see what you'll do in level two. Oh and of course, Happy Dance!