9/11 Short Stories

Vernon shot up in bed and was expecting something to come creeping out of the shadows.

The clarity of the reverberation of metal scraping the cobblestones sent shivers up my spine. As the sounds of a chase shattered the silence of the frigid London night, I thought back to every mistake and immoral decision I’d made in my life that led me to that moment. The list was longer than chances I had of living.

Pearl blinked, her chest heating up in a way for a reason she couldn’t even pinpoint, her head & heart were racing so much.

The rope hung from the tree, swaying in the howling wind. I step closer, and closer. My hands grasp the loop and raise it higher over my head. I climb up the stool, and step off.

I pulled my sweater tighter trying to lock out the cold weather; I should have listened to my mom about this. “Wear your jacket, Farah, It’s going to be a cold one!” Her words echoed in the back of my head like an endless loop; I knew something like this would happen. I started power walking in attempt to get to my warm, cozy bed as fast as I could, almost there.

“What’s wrong?” Derek stopped eating his oatmeal. He eyed me as he sipped down his hot coffee. Licking his lips, he waited for me to answer.

Quickly glancing at the hallway, I saw the shadow of Scout leaning against the wall. Choosing my words carefully, I vocalized my thoughts about Scout and her hot-headedness

" Then stop playing around with my emotions! " He slammed a palm onto the table.

Leaving off from where I last left off, noon was fast approaching. By then the town had nearly turned pitch black thanks to its gallery of unlit houses. The darkness somewhat contributed to a tranquil sense of complete nothingness. But on a lighter, less spiritual note lets focus on the plight of a commissioned streetlamp. This heritage lamp post, though not a rarity in Northbrook, was responsible for illuminating the town’s most noteworthy block. Industrial magnets, rags-to-riches lawyers and bankers, etc... a cast of people that one might expect to be somewhere on a communist poster next to the words enemy or capitalist baffoon, take your pick. Mustn't get off topic so often, doesn’t help the plot in any way. Anyhow lets return to the adventures of a certain beloved streetlamp.

Unfortunate for them, all of us were settled in the private bus taking us to the Church. It was already eight. Some of the overly religious oldies were getting cranky about the long wait for the boys. They wanted to leave. Just like me. Unlike some species, I loathed tardiness.

“Christina,” a faint voice say, “Christina!” My eyes flutter slowly open. “Please don’t die on me!” I feel cold clammy hands on my neck.

Someone tapped her shoulder lightly and she looked over to find Octavia giving her a weak smile. “Here,” she said, offering her one of the roughly made cups that they had made at some point.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” I replied laughing awkwardly. But deep down inside I was probably distressed as the maid was.

“What has gotten into you!” She blurted out, “They most definitely know that you killed Amaranth

Finally, I get to go do something after this hour of waiting, I walk the trail from my cabin, up the stairs, and through the doors of the cafeteria to go get dinner for that day. As I walk over to the food bar and the table, I see sandwiches. I am so happy to eat, but when I get my food, I have trouble finding a seat. I see an empty table end, and I go sit down there. When I sit down a lot of high schoolers follow me and sit down beside me. I am quiet for most of the time until Abby (Anne’s daughter) asks me if I am having fun.