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Description
I recently found out about the story of the 44 days of Hell experienced by Japanese girl Junk Furata, and as a person that is more in tune with empathy than I reveal on the surface I could not leave such a tragedy unaddressed by me to the universe.

The Shinto shrine nearest to where Junko lived was dedicated to none over than Susanoo the God of Storms. How poetic is it that such a strong individual would be nearest to to him. A tradition in the Shinto religion is that the names of locals near the shrine are written down regardless of the person's faith to show an always open home, and family that the religion is known for.

Junko is gone now. Her pain no more, and her place along side her family spirits is set guarded by the great Susanoo. Though the resolutions to such a demonic, and unhuman act are unhappy for most. It does not matter now. Now Junko may rest.

What can be done? What is there to say to right such a wrong? I struggled with questions like these in my head while making this, and like most things nothing can ever truly erase such a wrong except the ability to undo time itself. However art can lay the mind at ease, can not cleanse but dab the spot of guilt I feel for a crime I could not have prevented.

And in some way, though this may just be my wild dreams, I feel as though Junko might be able to see a simile upon such a gift as the quieting of soul is.

Wherever life's foggy road has taken Junko I hope she stands on the shores of happiness, basking in the start of a new day.

Description
I recently found out about the story of the 44 days of Hell experienced by Japanese girl Junk Furata, and as a person that is more in tune with empathy than I reveal on the surface I could not leave such a tragedy unaddressed by me to the universe.

The Shinto shrine nearest to where Junko lived was dedicated to none over than Susanoo the God of Storms. How poetic is it that such a strong individual would be nearest to to him. A tradition in the Shinto religion is that the names of locals near the shrine are written down regardless of the person's faith to show an always open home, and family that the religion is known for.

Junko is gone now. Her pain no more, and her place along side her family spirits is set guarded by the great Susanoo. Though the resolutions to such a demonic, and unhuman act are unhappy for most. It does not matter now. Now Junko may rest.

What can be done? What is there to say to right such a wrong? I struggled with questions like these in my head while making this, and like most things nothing can ever truly erase such a wrong except the ability to undo time itself. However art can lay the mind at ease, can not cleanse but dab the spot of guilt I feel for a crime I could not have prevented.

And in some way, though this may just be my wild dreams, I feel as though Junko might be able to see a simile upon such a gift as the quieting of soul is.

Wherever life's foggy road has taken Junko I hope she stands on the shores of happiness, basking in the start of a new day.