9/11 Readers Theatre

 

I was lying in bed, with my bedroom door slightly open—

half asleep, half awake.

From a distance, I could hear the news penetrating through my walls—

it must be Mom awake, I thought.

She was always the first up, catching the morning news.

I'd have to get up soon for school, and be ready by 8:00 a.m.

As I woke up and made my way down the hall to the living room,

I could see my mom glued to the television.  As she saw me, her words

filled with worry. "Jessica, they crashed into the towers!"

 

I looked on with disbelief, as the television screen was projecting

this horrific image.  There were just questions filling my head –

Why? How? Who crashed into the towers in New York?

I remember feeling a deep sadness and sympathy for those in New York

and those on the plane.  The second plane hadn't hit yet – it wouldn't be

till I came home from school that the gruesome images would be

played over and over on TV networks and in the collective conscience of America.

 

I remember, as I stepped on my school campus, examining students around me

to see if their faces were showing any signs of wrong or reflection of what

happened.  Did they know?  What are they thinking?

 

None of my teachers spoke about it that day.  I think we all wanted it to be

a terrible nightmare we'd wake up from.

                                                                                    Jessica S.

 

I woke up September 11, 2001, early

because my mother turned on the news

and the world I knew, before, changed.

Well the world I thought I know.

 

A dark bubble in my throat

I saw

a plane, a plane

crashing

crashing

into two tall buildings. They

were burning

and falling.

 

People,

people,

falling! Falling!

I sat speechless

I thought of children

of mothers

of fathers

of brothers, sisters, cousins,

of wives

 

The world is a dark place

dark, a wasteland

My sister comes over, my mother, my

nephews.

Oh! the people.  My people.

                                                                        Paula L.

 

 

On September 11, 2001

asleep in bed, maybe awake, I might be late for work,

but my bed is too warm and comfortable.

"Dude, we're under attack! Terrorists have bombed our shit!"

Randy barges in my door yelling.

I am too tired for another one of his practical jokes – he always pulls this stuff.

"Shut up!" I pull one pillow over my head.

"I'm not playing this time," he says as he turns on my TV.  "Look it's on the news."

The TV is too loud, I ignore what it's saying.  I throw another

pillow at him as I say "and turn that off on the way out."

He laughs and leaves my room, without turning the TV off.

I drift back to sleep.

I wake up at noon and hear the TV.

                                                                        John W.

 

 

I woke up at the age of twelve to words emerging from an alarm clock

that will be stuck in my head until the day I die.  As I went in to tell my parents,

they simply said that I must have been dreaming and they had no idea about the

crazy event I was talking about.

 

Then they turned on the TV, and there it was, the first tower burning at the top.

The voices emerging from the television set contained a sense of suspicion and uncertainty.

It was not until the second tower was hit moments later that the voice of suspicion

changed to fear.

 

Something emerged out of the building, stories high from the gates of heaven.  That something was a body.  Make that two bodies.  Make that � dead bodies. 

No parachutes or small pop-up planes to carry them to safety. 

Simply a long fall ahead with no chance of living.  They knew their fate with the collapsing

building disappearing out from beneath them.  They chose a flight of blissful descent over

burning to death and being crushed beneath stories of metal.   Maybe they thought that

during their fall they would emerge from fear into an overwhelming sensation of weightlessness.

                                                                                                Julia A.

 

It was dark in my room

The red numbers told me it was 6:30 a.m.

My mother rushed in talking of

crashed planes and burning buildings

I'm too tired for this make-believe

I drag myself out of bed to get breakfast and

instantly stop as I see the flames and smoke on the television

Helicopters, fire engines, and flashing lights

come on screen

as the second plane crashes into the twin buildings

The fire and smoke consume the twin towers

and they plummet to their death

taking thousands with them to their grave of

dust and rubble

Some jump, some burn, some are crushed

others boarded an aircraft destined for Heaven

Thousands die

And billions vow to never let their

deaths be in vain

                                                                                    Alexis G.

 

 

Mom was sitting on the couch, watching the TV.

I didn't have time to look; I was on my way to school.

But then, I soon saw it

Every classroom had a TV.  I saw it, too.

First, from Mr. Edward's Economics class.

The principal even spoke to us from her

office, from the intercom.

 

By the time lunch period arrived,

my friends and I had to find Nicola.

She was still friends with Marie.

I was friends with Marie's brother, Chris.

She graduated two years before.

They told us she was safe.

Marie was an intern in Tower Two.

It was her day off

on September 11, 2001.

                                                                                    Kyle Y.

 

Turn on the TV they said.

My TV is always on in the morning.

On 9/11/01 it wasn't

I turned it on and saw one building

Burning.

A building I recognized as one of

New York's Twin Towers

A building my brother had visited

went to the top of.

They said that people were leaping

to their deaths.

People were trapped inside.

One of the buildings kept burning.

Then the second plane hit.

Two buildings

Minutes passed and the buildings fell

just like that.

I sat quietly on the couch

And I stared. Just stared

at the TV and Peter Jennings.

9/11 made Peter Jennings start smoking again.

He died of lung cancer.

I guess 9/11 killed him too.

                                                                                    Rigo C.

 

I wake

What on earth?

He has the radio on and loud! (My brother who lives with me)

UGH

 

I shower and get ready to go.

It is 6:15 a.m. I am at the cleaners.

I have PT (Physical Therapy) at 7:00 a.m.

I am on the West Coast.

 

I come from the cleaners and the

cell phone is beeping; I have a message.

At this hour? 

The message "Frances, where are you?" from Daddy

I call back; it is my father

 

"Daddy, I'm in L.A.; I got back from Boston last night late.

There was no good reason to try and come back this morning."

 

There is a sigh and my father's voice

gives away his enormous amount of relief.

"I have to call your mom.  She's in Atlanta at my sister's.  She is ok."

 

On the radio (NPR) as I drive to the physical therapy at the hospital:

"They have closed all airports"

A national state of emergency not seen since WWII and Pearl Harbor.

 

My father's relief comes from the fact that I had been in Boston

on my way back from Maine.

I had chosen not to stay and had flown back on Monday night, on

American Airlines.

 

It was not my time; I was not

supposed to be on the airplane.

I was safe.  I listened to the angels and

I was fine.

Later I would remember walking passed

that man who stared at me, evil

in his face.   My mother and I were

at the Providence Airport in Maine.

 

Los Angeles was empty.  I had gone to

PT and then to work only to head home

again.  There was such heaviness in the country.

                                                                                    Frances M.

 

On September 11, I was still working in customer service.

It felt like a normal day.  I remember going to work and

noticing how quiet it was.  Everyone was glued to their computer, watching the coverage.

When I first saw the footage out of the corner of my eye,

saw the first plane hit the building, it seemed so unreal;

it was like watching a scene from a movie—it couldn't really be happening.

Once I got to my desk, I saw my co-workers clustered around one terminal.  Then

I realized.  This is real.  This is news.

 

I didn't react like many of the others, once we got over the shock, that is.

My first thought was, "Well someone's finally done it.  Someone's finally broken through

this bright shiny bubble of insulation we call the U. S.

No more complacency now."  I was amazed at how

quickly it united everyone.  The next day, everyone had a red-white-blue ribbon or sticker on their car—even me—and I am not a patriot.

 

It all seemed so far away, even as it was happening.

Although I grieved for the victims and their families, I couldn't help but feel removed from it all.

I didn't think I knew anyone involved.  I was wrong.

 

My friend Gina told me later that she had a close friend working in the Twin Towers;

I had met this girl on occasion, but I couldn't remember her face.

Later, Gina flew to New York, attended the Memorial.

Her grief infected me, made it real.  It's strange,

isn't it, grieving for a girl I can barely remember,

but after that I could see the faces of the dead.

                                                                                    Tanya N.

 

Al Qaeda did this?

I can't even spell their name.

What a mess.

All day I watched the coverage in third period biology

None of us knew anyone from NYC

"But it will be our blood

which will be spilled in retaliation."

Surely the war will be over in

three years.

                                                                                    Chris M.

 

I saw it just briefly on the news

that morning.

A plane crash – crazy –

I thought.

I couldn't wait to get to school

to tell my friends.

But then,

I was only eighteen,

a freshman in college,

and I didn't really have a clue.

When I got to campus

everyone was abuzz

but none of us really understood

the severity,

the world-changing impact

of that day.

Because we were only eighteen,

all freshmen in college,

and none of us really had a clue at that moment.

But when we got home soon after

because the campus had been shut down

and we watched it on the television

we finally began to understand

and now we finally knew.

                                                                                    Marina S.

A violently pink

shirt.

Mr. Blaine's 8th grade classroom

"Did you see the news this morning?"

Natalie asked.

"It's bad," Bryan Kip said

knowingly, his eyes wide,

eyebrows pushing their

way up his forehead.

 

What had I missed?

Even Candi in her fluorescent pink

shirt, stretchy and shimmering with little

peaks of fabric all over

the place, even Candi

seemed to know.

 

When Mr. Blaine turned on

the TV I watched

video footage of a building bleeding smoke

 

I must not be the only one who hadn't known.

No one who knew this was happening

would wear a violently pink shirt.

                                                                        Jackie S.

 

Erin called me when she woke up and saw the news report, but

Alex had already called and woke me up a half hour earlier.

Erin was worried, her mom said nobody knew what would come next.

She went to school,

Not for long though.

All the students claimed they were too

afraid

to stay, or something

(Not the whole truth – they gathered in the main hallway, waiting for rides, chattering, like it was a surprise holiday, or the power had gone out and class-simply couldn't go on.)

We watched news all day long

A friend had relatives in New York,

none were hurt.

I think some of the drama was fun for people

because it was so far from us.

But the fear was real, too.

                                                                                    Erin L.

 

I'm so nervous.  They're going to catch me.

This isn't going to work.  I have to.

I have no choice.  It is my destiny

and it must be done.

 

They will see our power

They will cry and curse this day forever.

It has to be done.

For my country.

For my people.

In the name of God, this will be done.

It will be another ordinary day

and then their world will come crashing

down just like mine has.

None of this will be in vain.

I sacrifice myself for you.

                                                                                    Monique C.

 

Deidre: I finally submitted all of my stories.

            What a relief!

            Wow, there are so many people crowded near

            the window.  I wonder what they're looking at?

 

Businessman: What a morning.  I hope I don't have a parking

            ticket from the garage this morning

            all because my wife slipped in the shower.

            I'm really hoping my mother can pick Sarah

            up today from school.

            The floor shakes.

Deidre: What on  earth was that?!

            Why are people screaming?

            Everyone is on their phones. Hm

Businessman: The building.  We've been hit.

            But by what?

Deidre: I'm sweating.  I need to leave.

            I need to leave now.

            42 floors up.

            This is going to be a long exit.

            I'm just praying for an exit.

Businessman: My wife.

            She needs to call the school.

            And get Sarah out.

            I need to get out.

            What about all those people above me?

            God, I hope everyone gets out.

                                                                                    Briana B.

 

I really didn't mean to be callous

or unconcerned

but there I was – in my office, stressing

over being ready for my 11:00 freshman comp class.

When Gayle came to the door, I turned from

my computer

heard her say something about a plane and

the World Trade Center.

Where was the World Trade Center?

A few minutes later, Sandra came to my door;

she too, relayed more details about New York.

 

I gathered books, headed over to the computer

classroom where my class was meeting.

The previous professor had left the LCD projector on

and CNN was playing.

My students came in, immediately shifting their attention

to the scenes of disaster displayed.

We watched as a second plane hit,

as the Towers crumbled,

as people jumped to their deaths.

One of my students left in tears – her

father was at the Pentagon.

                                                                                    Dr. Warner

 

It was a week or so later.  I was watching

morning television.

The husband was talking about his wife

and his little girl.

"She was five years old," he said.  "It was her first trip

to Disneyland.  They were meeting my wife's best friend

in California.  She was on the other plane."

 

A month later we were in Disneyland.

The weather was perfect – California is so

beautiful in October.  There were very few

people in the park and no lines at the rides.

We had fun.  We saw a lot of security.

We felt safe.

I thought about that little girl.

                                                                                    Debra H.

 

September 10th: my dad showed me our new jet ski.

We went out to ride it at the Delta.

I didn't do my homework, so I decided to wake up early the

next morning to do it.

History, my least favorite.

I'm 11 years old.

September 11th: I wake up earlier than normal to start my homework.

Daddy runs in.

"Ana," he says, "come here.  You have to see something!"

I jump up almost immediately, expecting to see two jet skis

in our garage instead of just one.

But he leads me to the television.

Is that a factory? I think to myself as I see smoke

Billowing on the screen.

"It's the World Trade Center," he tells me, as if reading my mind.

I'm scared, but he takes me to school anyway.

We have a special assembly at the Christian, ultra-

Conservative school I attend.

"you all are witnessing the end of the world," one of my teachers says.

 

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

                                                                                    Ana A.

 

Too early for a phone call – 7:30.  Out late the night

before.  "There's bad news," my mom said.  "Terrorists flew a

plane into the World Trade Center in New York."  "That's

terrible," I said, and hung up the phone and went back

to sleep.  Two hours later, awake again.  I turned

on the news, still in bed, just in time to see

a replay of the second plane colliding, all smoke and

sirens and debris.  Another video: two figures, hands joined,

jumping from one of the towers.  I turned off the TV.  My

roommate was in tears in the living room.

 

Outside, the world was going on as usual, it

seemed.  I crossed the highway, then the train tracks on my

way to school.  Had anyone heard?  Did anyone know the

impact, the magnitude, the implications?  I had never seen

anyone wringing her hands before.  Professor Trechter was. "My

brother is in New York."  She kept repeating, "My brother."

The classroom phone rang: classes were cancelled.  The

university was close, that day and the next.  We all went home.

 

I couldn't turn the TV back on.  I wanted to know,

but not by myself.  I walked to my friend's apartment,

where people – friends and neighbors and classmates—

were packed into his living room. Together, we watched.  No

one spoke.

 

I called my mom back that afternoon.  I wanted to hear

her voice again.

                                                                                    Beth K-H.

 

I'm pressing the buttons

on my cell phone –

oh God, let me get through.

My hands are shaking.

I'm going to vomit.

Is this really happening?

My death – it's here.  I'm not ready.

There's no turning back

            no waking up from a bad dream.

 

It's ringing

I hear his voice

            the voice I've heard so many nights

            as we made love

            never again

            Oh God – never again?

"They've hijacked the plane," I ramble.

"Honey, I love you!  Don't forget me. Don't forget

that I love you forever.  I know this may

sound strange, but promise me you'll love

again.  Don't give the hijackers any power.

Love AGAIN!"

 

The phone drops from my hand as the nose of

the plane dips forward.

I hit my head on the seat in front of me.

"Oh God," I whisper,

            Then –

            nothing more – nothing more.

                                                                                    Ellen J.

 

The teacher began our high school computer class with the

words, "the twin towers have been destroyed, and so has

the pentagon."

 

Silence.

Confusion.

 

Someone says, "Does this mean we have to go home?"

 

We work on filing out the worksheet.  We are zombies,

just moving, not thinking.

 

The math teacher turns on the TV.  "When I was a child,"

she says, "Kennedy was shot.  I can still picture that day.

It's unforgettable.  You will remember this day forever."

 

My hand is shaking, my lips trembling.

I can't finish the square root equations.

On the news, papers are flying everywhere, like flags

urging peace.  People wave handkerchiefs out of

windows on the top floors.  I think of people from

the olden days boarding steam-liners.  People who will

never be seen again.

 

Where is God on this day?

 

I come home grateful that it wasn't us there.  Then, I

feel sickened.  I feel selfish and shameful that

I'm happy to be alive.

 

My interview at Hallmark has been cancelled.  It doesn't

matter. I wouldn't have been able to smile at those

cheerful cards anyway.

                                                                                    Huma S.

 

I remember the day

pretty clearly.

I woke up at about 6:30 or 7:00 and was

getting ready for school.

I turned on the TV and the first thing I

see is building ablaze.

Replay, replay, replay.

The shot of the plane

crashing kept repeating.

I remember thinking, "I'm going to remember this day forever."

I did not have any relatives in the towers,

No friends of the family.

But I felt for those who woke up thinking,

"Today is going to be an ordinary day."

They had no idea they would be

the bystanders in someone's plot for revenge.

I remember everyone in school was talking about it.

The principal got on the intercom and asked for a moment of

silence.

Nobody knew who did it.

That day the Palestinians were possible suspects.

To mark the day, I simply put

"Twin Tower crash"

in my agenda on

September 11, 2001.

I cannot imagine what sort of

hysterical moments, emotional breakdowns, and

anger marked the day for those

who lost somebody that day.

                                                                                    Melissa G.

 

Seventh grade picture day.

I got up early to have my friend

fix my hair.

got on the bus to school.

Something was on the radio about

something happening in New York

but nobody seemed to know what.

 

Got my picture taken and

took an  English test.

Boy, was that test hard.

All the students were called out

of class and sent to the cafeteria.

 

We have to leave school for today—

my principal told us.

Something about us being on a

naval base wasn't safe.

So, our parents came and

tried to explain what happened.

 

I still don't understand it.

                                                                                    Airean B.

 

We pick Elizabeth up at 6:45.

We have jazz band before school.

I hate junior high.

But I love jazz band.

 

Did you read the paper?  Liz asks me.

What kid does?

Especially at 6 in the morning.

Except the comics, maybe.

 

The baby elephant at the zoo was finally born!

Liz informs me.

Elizabeth loves animals.

After band, kids pour in for school to start.

The buzz seems louder today.

Buzz about a world trade center.

            Whatever that is.

Buzz about terrorism.

            Whatever that means.

Buzz about school being let out.

            My ears perk.

 

Did you hear the news? Miranda asks me.

You mean about the elephant?

                                                                                    Rebecca M.

 

Turning on the television is like turning on the radio,

noise to fill the room while I go about my routine.

Prepare breakfast,

gather  my lesson materials,

stop to hear the weather report

put on my shirt, pick up my keys,

leave.

Only this time, the voices are unusually serious.

From the other room came only occasional voices,

not the usual chatter, light and lively, unimportant.

Down in the kitchen, I begin to leave,

reach for the remote to turn off the box

and stop.

I see the image—

a tower smoking,

confusion from the reporters,

firemen rushing to the scene,

replays.

I sit on the couch.

Work can wait.

As I take it all in, absorbing the story,

I say a prayer for the people trapped, the rescuers,

and their families.

15 minutes pass (I think) and I stand to leave

and see that second plane pierce that second tower.

I sit.

I call Frances because I can't be alone with this.

When I finally leave

I feel shock, sadness, anger, sorrow, grief.

I feel American.

                                                                                    Daniel P.

 

Where were you? I was at home, listening to the 9.49 morning show, getting ready for school.

I was a sophomore.  Instead of hearing my favorite radio d.j. making his infamous prank calls,

I was startled to find his voice so serious.

There were no prank calls, and no music played.

The d.j. spoke of planes and towers and terrorists.

I listened for a few minutes. Still not sure what to think,

I went in my mom's room and without saying a word, I turned on her

TV and stared at her, waiting for her reaction

that would determine my next move.

 

I arrived at school and was met with mixed reactions from students and teachers.

Some students appeared stoic, while others angry.

I carried on to my first period knowing it was going to be a long day.

My English teacher, Mr. Awaad, started in right away

blatantly scolding us for talking about

the attacks.  He allowed his emotions to get the

better of him and carried on for 30 minutes

about Muslims and Palestinians being blamed

for everything.  He finally stopped, warned us

about bringing it up again, and told us to

read silently for the rest of the period.  I can't

remember the book we read, probably because I wasn't reading that day.

 

Drained, I passed to my second period history class and

sought solitude from my beloved Mr. Lunceford.

He called it history in the making, played the news,

and answered any and all questions he could to the best of his knowledge.

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur.  I find myself vividly remembering where

I was when I first heard about the attacks,

and my heightened awareness fades as time progresses.

                                                                                    Monica S.

 

My dad tells me a plane has crashed

into the world trade center.

What's the world trade center? I asked.

It's a building in New York, he replied.

Oh, ok, I said casually.

I did not understand the severity

of the situation at the time.

I ran it over in my head on the way to school.

An airplane filled with passengers crashed into a building.

All of those people in the airplane are dead.  That's sad.

I go to my homeroom class and everyone is

talking about the plane crash in New York.

I go into Mr. Strand's history class, we all watch in

horror as another airplane crashes into the building.  I have never seen

a teacher look so helpless or fearful.

Now it hits me.  This is serious. Soon I learned

of another crash into the pentagon.

I have no idea what the pentagon is.  We are being attacked,

I realize.  Our teachers try their best to carry out the rest of the day, but

every time I write 9/11/01 on a paper, I know

this was no ordinary day.

                                                                                    Jena B.

 

I awoke to find my parents standing before the television.

I looked and saw something burning on the TV, but couldn't tell what it was.

My parents could not explain it to me, for they were unsure themselves about what

had happened and told me to be quiet as they were trying to listen.

I went on with my morning as usual, and my father drove me to the junior high shortly after.

It was when I got to school and gathered at the front with my friends

that I learned that New York had been attacked.  I can't recall if

my friends mentioned the planes hitting the towers.  New York was foreign to me,

but attack had all sorts of connotations.

 

I didn't know it was the work of terrorists yet.

When I got to my first class, my teacher had the radio on, and I learned the truth.

At break a moment of silence was held, and we all stood on the asphalt.  It was eerily silent.

It was then I felt connected to those people hundreds of miles away, people

who had lost their husbands or wives or fathers or mothers or brothers or sisters or lovers.

I thought of how different the morning they'd awoken to was from mine,

which was one of relative calm.  The attack had happened before I'd awaken,

while I was sleeping  peacefully, probably dreaming of things like

my cat, food, or buying a new pair of pants.

                                                                                    April S.

 

"A national disaster" my mom called it.  She woke me up early before school,

and we watched the news.  But not for long.  The towers were nowhere

near my school.  I saw no smoke, heard no screams,

breathed no ash, felt no fear.  So I went to school.

Damn.

 

But the day would be interesting.  I grabbed a walkman and left for school.  An excuse

to listen to the radio all day through classes.  People asked me for updates. 

Two planes hit.  Seven planes. Five planes.  The Pentagon was destroyed.

No, four planes. Back to seven.

 

Nothing changed.  There was no terror at my school.  I saw no fear, only curiosity.

The only panic came from a retarded boy who cried because he thought the school

would blow up or his mom was dead. Or something.

                                                                                                Ryan H.

 

The phone rang.  I was already up getting

ready for school so I answered it.

 

"Hello?" It was my aunt.

"Are you watching TV," she asked.

"No, why?" I said.

"Turn it on."  I couldn't find a single channel

that didn't have the arresting images of

the smoking towers.

"Boys a few years older than you will be going to war, Alyssa.  The world has

changed," she said.

Those words echoed in my ears.  "The world has changed."

The world has changed, and I already can't remember how it was before her phone call.

                                                                                    Alyssa B.

 

It was like a scene out of a movie

planes crashing into skyscrapers

buildings that defied gravity

going up in flames

filling the air with smoke

falling, falling, falling

until they were no more.

I don't know if it was because my mom

woke me up so early to see this

Or if it was because the idea of this

seemed so surreal

but I couldn't believe it,

didn't want to believe it.

Why is this happening?

What have those people done,

what have we done to deserve this?

 

I remember staring in disbelief

as people flung themselves from the towers

somehow thinking

somehow believing

that that was better than dying from a building collapsing.

And I couldn't help but wonder

would I have done that?

Would I have been strong enough

to take my own life?

Or would I have

surrendered to the crushing steel

the smothering smoke

and let whatever happens, happen?

 

The men and women who went racing

up and up

trying desperately to save others

who felt it was their duty

who didn't think twice about themselves.

They became heroes in my eyes.

Heroes more real

and true

and brave

than any Batman or Superman.

They were flesh and blood

people with hopes and dreams and families

yet they gave that all up for others.

Terrorists may have tested our strength

but in return we figured just how strong we could be..

                                                                                    Melissa M.

 

I stared at him like I've never done before.

My mind was racing, mouth sealed shut.

What was he thinking?

His eyes were open but could he see?

See that car in front of him that he stared at�

The car that was so close and becoming nearer.

 

I wanted to scream "STOP!!!"

But I didn't – I said nothing, just stared.

And then it happened.

BANG! We rammed into the back of that car in front of us.

We were only moving about 5 mph, but the

sound from the impact mimicked the sound

from a firearm in a movie.

I have never been that scared before.

 

Seeing what would happen before it did,

wanting to prevent it but becoming mute.

At that moment, I knew how the deer in headlights felt.

 

We exchanged information with the lady we hit.

Her face a blur� her voice unheard.

After the accident we moved forward.

She went to work, we went to school.

My brother and me�still shocked, still mute.

 

I got to class early, the television was on.

Was my teacher watching a movie?

Looked like the news..

Buildings falling, planes crashed,

people crying.

What movie was this?

 

An announcement from the principal over the PA system–

Terrorist attack, NY –

This was no movie, it was reality.

 

Years later I would learn what caused

the crash my brother and I had.

He was spaced out because he knew of the

attack before we left.  He saw it on TV.

He knew and was scared because he had just joined the Air Force

and would leave for boot camp soon after the attack.

That BANG! would be the first of many he would hear thereafter.

                                                                                    Kristian R.

 

What could a twenty-three-year-old man

know of courage?

Roused by his mother

at a leisurely eight-thirty in

the morning.

His hair messed up

and eyes groggy with

the improbable news.

What, indeed?

                                                                                    Erik O.

 

On the day of September 11th

I went to school

unaware of the destruction going on somewhere else.

I greeted my friends before class and it was then

that I found out about what had occurred.

I took it as passing gossip not thinking much about it,

until I sat down in social studies class and my teacher

played for us the video clip of the plane barreling into

the twin towers.

It looked like a scene from a movie, the way the towers fell

as if right on the director's cue.

She also spun a story for us about the passengers on

the plane who knew they were being hijacked and said their

final farewells to their loved ones.

It still didn't come as a shock to me.

It wasn't until I heard a song, one of my favorites

on my friends MP3 player.

The maker had taken out the voices and left the melody.

Then came a tiny voice of a child, speaking about her feelings.

Her story to her father who was lost in the crash came

through the tears she was trying to hold back.

It was like someone broke a dam inside of me and all

my tears came out for this girl and the other families.

                                                                                    Carol C.