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No. 391278
>>391180 >Why Photograph War?
Being an aspie, I tend to develop periodic obsessions with random things. It was even more developed when I was a child. When I was about nine, for reasons I do not remember, I became obsessed with nuclear weaponry. The power, the technology, the destruction, the transitory beauty and otherwordly menace of a mushroom cloud. The human element never entered my mind beyond mere statistics, medical information, cold numbers. For about two or three years, I obsessed over everything I could get my hands on regarding the subject. In short order, I knew and could quote with accuracy the entire history of nukes: the theories, the development, the use in war, the extensive testing in land, sea, underground, and even in space. I was in love with nukes. I worshipped nukes. I lived and breathed for nukes. My single greatest regret was that they'd stopped testing them so that I'd never get to see a real mushroom cloud. In the middle of the night, when other boys my age were sneaking out of their room to the TV to watch scrambled porn on premium channels, I was sneaking out to watch Trinity and Beyond, the atomic bomb documentary. It was never enough.
Then, one day, I was looking for more material in the library. I was in the adult section, of course, because there isn't any information about nuclear weaponry in the kid's section, and anyway at 12 I was already reading at a college level. I picked up a book with photographs in it regarding the destruction of Hiroshima, and flipped through. I got my high easily, there were before/after aerial photos, pictures of various destroyed structures, a few pin-ups of the fireball and mushroom cloud — the usual fare. But then I stopped at one page. It was a picture of a boy around the same age I was, clothes gone, burnt head-to-toe into charcoal, contorted in a grimace of agony like the figures from Pompeii, arms raised to his face showing how he died a split second after seeing a blinding flash of light. The caption was something very close to: "The charred remains of a young Hiroshima boy, 200 feet from the central blast."
I was struck dumb. I didn't know what to think. It wasn't as if I was a stupid kid; I couldn't claim ignorance of the human cost of nuclear weaponry, and I certainly cared on some level. For some reason, it just never clicked with me until I saw that photo. I thought: just what the FUCK am I doing? He was just some kid like me, maybe liked to read as I did, and then one day he was minding his own business when boom, now he's dead, a human-shaped lump of coal the only remains. Probably nobody left to bury him or mourn. God Almighty.
After that moment, I didn't like nukes much anymore. The influence of a simple photograph can be something immense, something more powerful than even a nuclear bomb.
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