As the bottle disintegrates when struck by a penetrating bullet, so did the silence when the brick came thundering down the deserted building, which was in rumbles. As I looked over the sea of bricks which represented the cold dark fate of death two big brown gleaming innocent eyes peered over the remains of a crumbled walls like the sun rising over the cold snow of winter. Soon, to my surprise, another pair popped up, then another and another, until the site where the new building was being erected looked like a corn popper. Upon closer examination I noticed in those eyes that there was hope, hope that this whole land would be rebuilt. For this was the city, Hiroshima, Japan, 1947.