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My 9/11 tribute on the 10th anniversary....
**********
He was still on his feet after the second plane hit. He felt the building shake and could even feel the heat from the explosion. There were so many sounds, concrete shattering, steel melting, glass breaking, fire burning, people screaming, but the strangest of them all was the wind. There was wind going through his tower.
He had often gone to the window nearest his cubicle and looked out, hands flat on the window and joked to his office mate about jumping if he had to read one more memo about not leaving food in the company fridge over weekends. There was one that morning when he opened his email.
"I'm gonna make the boss eat my wife's three day old casserole one day," he swore that morning, "or shove him right out this window."
That window had blown out when the second plane hit and shrapnel had flown through his office. He had been lucky, he had been at his desk on time. Or maybe he hadn't been lucky. Maybe today, September 11, 2001, it would have been better to be late.
There was fire everywhere and smoke so thick he couldn't keep his eyes opened for more than two seconds at a time. He turned the corner that took him into the hall. He heard shouts, moans and screams, but somehow. He tripped over someone, or something. He was about to crouch down to feel what it was, maybe someone that needed help, when someone tripped on the something also and pushed him forward.
He stumbled down the hallway, smoke starting to funnel through it so thick that he couldn't see a thing. He reached out to touch a wall for some guidance and it burned his fingers. He snatched his hand back, put his arm over his eyes and nose.
He was coughing now. It hurt like hell. He felt like he was breathing in burning ashes, they clogged and smoldered in his lungs. He heard screaming and turned away from it. Whoever was screaming, they couldn't be going the right direction, though he couldn't even remember how many turns he had taken or even where the stairs were with his lungs burning and his eyes full of smoke.
He took a step and started to fall. The wind rushed around him. He gasped clean air and blinked his eyes until they cleared. He saw the structure below, the lobby he had come in that morning. He saw the rush of windows as he fell by each floor and he thought of his wife. He actually heard the sound of his body going through the glass but there was no pain. He heard a sound that must have been his body hitting the floor, but there was no more sounds after that, not ones he could understand, anyway. There was only a bright light in a tunnel and the thought that he was going home.
**********
He was still on his feet after the second plane hit. He felt the building shake and could even feel the heat from the explosion. There were so many sounds, concrete shattering, steel melting, glass breaking, fire burning, people screaming, but the strangest of them all was the wind. There was wind going through his tower.
He had often gone to the window nearest his cubicle and looked out, hands flat on the window and joked to his office mate about jumping if he had to read one more memo about not leaving food in the company fridge over weekends. There was one that morning when he opened his email.
"I'm gonna make the boss eat my wife's three day old casserole one day," he swore that morning, "or shove him right out this window."
That window had blown out when the second plane hit and shrapnel had flown through his office. He had been lucky, he had been at his desk on time. Or maybe he hadn't been lucky. Maybe today, September 11, 2001, it would have been better to be late.
There was fire everywhere and smoke so thick he couldn't keep his eyes opened for more than two seconds at a time. He turned the corner that took him into the hall. He heard shouts, moans and screams, but somehow. He tripped over someone, or something. He was about to crouch down to feel what it was, maybe someone that needed help, when someone tripped on the something also and pushed him forward.
He stumbled down the hallway, smoke starting to funnel through it so thick that he couldn't see a thing. He reached out to touch a wall for some guidance and it burned his fingers. He snatched his hand back, put his arm over his eyes and nose.
He was coughing now. It hurt like hell. He felt like he was breathing in burning ashes, they clogged and smoldered in his lungs. He heard screaming and turned away from it. Whoever was screaming, they couldn't be going the right direction, though he couldn't even remember how many turns he had taken or even where the stairs were with his lungs burning and his eyes full of smoke.
He took a step and started to fall. The wind rushed around him. He gasped clean air and blinked his eyes until they cleared. He saw the structure below, the lobby he had come in that morning. He saw the rush of windows as he fell by each floor and he thought of his wife. He actually heard the sound of his body going through the glass but there was no pain. He heard a sound that must have been his body hitting the floor, but there was no more sounds after that, not ones he could understand, anyway. There was only a bright light in a tunnel and the thought that he was going home.
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