9/11 Short Stories

Obtrusively,the thunder bellowed outside and the roaring sound filled the small room like rock music to a broken soul.Amongst the thunder, raindrops could be seen ebbing down the windowsill forming undecipherable miniscule shapes and later sinking down in the wall to gather at the edge.

Out of the darkness, rivers of brilliant light and color began to flow all around her, as if a dam holding back a rainbow had miraculously burst. Then she heard the music... a melody so beautiful it tugged at her very soul. It was as if the euphony clothed her in an impenetrable blanket. She felt warm. She felt safe. Uncontrollably, tears welled up, the hymn gripping her heart, and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut and instinctively her body curled into a protective ball.

My feet, without any cloths to protect them were bloody and covered in sores from rubbing against sharp stones. Like some of the horrible bed sores one of my many brothers had gotten years ago. At least that is how I am picturing them in my mind, as couldn’t see them in this light, or lack of. My feet ached, hunger pains were beginning to rise, my head, with such intense pain and that awful, awful feeling that I was not alone. I could feel the hairs on my neck stand as the eerie buzz of silence screamed in my ear. Unconsciously my slow pacing of the perimeter broke into a full speed run.

I walk downstairs in light blue high waisted shorts and a white tank top with cowgirl boots.

Nothing was heard, only the water droplets that drops from the crack ceiling. Making a small puddle on the ground, having mice roaming around the place.

“Come here, look,” she would say, her voice trembling with every syllable, “we received an encrypted letter from Langley.”

I had been on a boat before, and I didn't usually tend to get sea sick. I felt a little queasy, but I knew I'd be alright. We were getting off of the ferry in less than forty minutes. I sat with Avenelle Jérôme on the edge of a window that was so long it touched the floor. So basically, we were sat on the floor, but that sounds filthy, doesn't it? "Nelly?" I mumbled, he was staring out at the murky waters below like a little kid, probably waiting for the coast of France to appear. Meanwhile, Nicki was on the top deck, using her iPhone to take pictures for her Tumblr.

“But that still doesn’t answer my question as to how you knew that wasn’t my mother?” said Jack. “She was there, at my door, in plain sight!”

I didn't know what to say to him. My mind was empty. I couldn't tell whether he was sad or angry. It was difficult for me to interpret his emotions. He was not the kind to sew his heart on his sleeve. Yet, I saw tears streaming down his cheek whenever he was all alone. I felt bad for him, for the boy whose parents had died in a storm.

I walked straight out of that bar and headed for the airport; Oxford had accepted me on full scholarship, and it was time to go. As I approached the airport the almost intolerable roar of the planes jetting off the runway filled my already burning ears.

She was a long-legged, curvy girl, but she knew how to move quietly. She pulled her scarf up over her face, and stepped out into the blinding sunlight, the heat from the sand warming up the bottom of her shoes. She kept all except her eyes and hands covered, and walked swiftly through the sandy hills of the Sahara Desert. She wasn't easy to notice, wearing robes the same color as the thin grains of sand beneath her feet. From above, or far away, you would just see her movement as the sand being blown in the wind.

A panicked yelp rang out in the distance, followed by a screech of tires. The women continued walking, only a few casting a wondering glance towards the noise. The church bell was ringing, merry as we exited the church and the wind blew gently. My mother and father engaged the locals in conversation, eager to know more about the island we were on, Nui Tapu Tapu, a place only really known because of the tsunami damage it took on in September 2009. “What is that?” I asked my mother, as I pointed to two men dragging something black behind them. Yet before she could answer, I figured it out for myself. A strange pit formed in my stomach as I watched them drag a young dog behind them. “That must have been what caused the screech earlier.” My mother

I open my eyes and the first thing I notice besides the fact that I’m not in my room was the giant pile of shattered glass. I look away from the pile of glass and see a large group of tents and at least ten campfires. Instinctively I get up and start walking towards the tents. All of a sudden a strangely dressed man appears in front of me in a puff of smoke. I fall on my butt out of sheer shock.

figures dart between the devastating ruins of the condemned buildings; they weave in and out crossing the darkened rain-watered streets avoiding the searching spotlight. Hiding in collapsing doorways and the war-torn wreckage abandoned by the many that perished trying to defend them. Working hard to blend with the deteriorating walls and the half-standing shells of the concrete rubble, They use the many trash-filled alleys as their temporary cover. Mindful that the German snipers scan the area for any would-be terrorists, they keep a watchful eye on the rooftops. Michelle decides, in this case, there is not strength in numbers. “We must separate,” she mentions,

For two weeks, I didn’t see my father at all. I woke up, every day, hoping that he would be in the dining room helping Dusty out with the making of breakfast. Instead, for the past two weeks, I woke up to the usual: breakfast on the table, Dusty and Vinyl calling me down to join them with still no sign of my father. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the smell of water vapour from Jazzmere’s smoking pipe. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to Jazzmere singing old Equestrian songs about the Princesses and how they formed the kingdom. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the hissing sound of the iron Jazzmere used to iron the clothes I wore to school.