I had barely looked up when I heard a sound that made my stomach drop to the floor and heart and adrenaline race like it had never before.
Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, CRASH, BOOM
At first, I had thought a bomb had gone off outside until I realized there was something very familiar about all this. Almost like deja vu. I was hiding under my desk as I looked up at the clock on the wall behind my desk chair on the wall. 8:45. Then I looked at the calendar hanging next to the clock. My sister's birthday is tomorrow, the twelveth of September. I didn't want to die before- wait, today is September 11th?
All of this ran through my mind at the speed of light while hiding from the chaos and screams around me. Once I realized it was 9/11, I knew what was next. Despite the fact I was high up in the tower, I wanted to survive.
"Everyone! We have to get out of here!" I screamed as I jumped up so hard out of under my desk, that my head slammed against the underside of the desk before I had gotten out.
My legs were shaking so hard, I can hardly describe it. If you've ever thought you've been nervous before, you haven't. To know your fate before it even happens is something very few people have felt.
"Well?! Come one!" No one listened to me. It seemed that everyone felt safe under their own desk, or table. I can't blame them. If only they knew what was next.
"Another plane is coming! If you stay here you WILL DIE." There was no point in arguing. I ran. Stairs or elevator? Stairs of course. I would hate to be in the elevator during the second crash. I made my way to the stairs, but wait. Where were the stairs? I had never been here before. In a shear panic, I ran around looking for the stairs. Then I saw a stream of people running down the hall across from me. They must know where the stairs are. I followed them, and sure enough, there were the stairs. Some people were cramming into the elevator. I tried warning them, but they didn't listen. I finally found myself running down the stairs. At first, there were hardly any people, but as I descended the stairs, more and more people appeared.
"Come on guys, LET'S GO, LET'S GO! MOVE!"
Flight after flight after flight, I ran.
As I ran, I began to wonder what flight I had started on. Was it high up? Hopefully it wasn't the very top flight. I was too busy focusing on my running (I was worried I was going to fall over from my shaky legs) to notice flight number 87 on the wall.
What happened next is a bit hard to explain. There was a crash. A loud blast that sent debris and smoke. Lots of it. I got up from the ground with a piercing headache. There were bodies around me, dead or not, I don't know. Disregarding the scene around me, I stumbled down a few more stairs, only to find an impossible wall of debris and rock.
I frantically throwback rocks and whatever I can find blocking my path behind me. My hands tear up and blood runs all the way down to my elbows, but I don't care. If only I could move this debris faster.
"Help! Someone help me!" I scream so hard, I don't think my words even sound like words. The smoke is so thick now, It feels as if I were drinking it. I try to dig faster, but my body involuntarily slows down. Now any average person would have broken down here, but not me. I was convinced I could survive, although deep, deep down inside a part of me knew; there's no hope. I slump unto the floor, and for the first time in a long time, tears make their way down my face. It's over.
If you have any edit suggestions for this chapter (or future chapters), let me know! I hope this short story was powerful enough to glimpse into the emotional events of 9/11. I have so many ideas for this book, so stay tuned!
