My Story

I have alot to share with you all, and this is one of the four things I have written since my computer was trashed. It blue-screened, I am currently using my mother’s laptop instead, and so I am not sure when I will be able to get back to regular updates for the blog. But I am going to try 🙂
I wrote this is an emotional state of melancholy — it is simply something that I wanted to get down on paper before the weak nuisances of my brain tarnished the facts and images I remember about that time period. The poetry is all mine, as sketch as it is, as are the fact and phrases. The time period was September 11th, 2001.

A story you’ve probably heard 1,000 times, from 1,000 different perspectives.

1st period, Fourth Grade

The day steel rained down;
The day over a thousand were found;
The day Americans ran for cover;
The day our history was changed forever.

September 11th, 2001 was as hectic and as sorrowful for your childrens’ generation as it was to those of you who are older. We, as children, had to sit or stand and watch as an unseen force dropped our world’s bottom right out from under it.
For me, a fourth grader sitting at a small metal desk, I was appalled at the confusion on the teacher’s television screen as the camera panned and the towers fell.
So many people died — so many jumped and burned that day; I felt privelaged to breathe, and also to live far away from New York City. As an aging teenager now, I can appreciate my teacher for allowing us to look on in silence as the deadly story was written, but I also curse her for damaging our youth with the footage of such a savage catastrophee LIVE.
I watched, with my own two eyes, the smoke billowing out from the first impact on the first tower, choking and stranding those people on the floors above it. I watched as secondary explosions rang out; as breathing, living bodies sailed towards the ground, and kept my eyes glued also to the frantic news reporter who was so positive our world was at its end.
And I saw, frozen with innocent fright, a second plane, giant, come into the television frame, soaring for the last time over the smaller New York buildings, before it carved a jagged hole in the upper middle half of Tower Two. The airliner sliced through glass, concrete, and steel like a hot knife sliding through butter.
I still recall that feeling of grounding, ultimate adrenaline as the last of my youthful innocence plunged into the streets below in a mass of steel, dust and bodies.

In one day so many firemen fought;
In one day so many hearts were distraught.
It is not a day we will ever forget–
we remember —
not as the day America was broken,
but as the day she was finally pulled together again.

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