9/11 Short Stories

“Okay well I came here from my home, I ran away you could say. Then I met you, what is your name?”

The wind twirled around the columns, engulfing the girl standing in the center. Her hands raised as she looked to the open ceiling. She swayed with the wind, letting it push her and guide her.

“Yes i have heard of him. He was the one who arrested me for robbing places around here.”

Red light, bright as the midday sun, flared into existence. It began to flicker and waver. Small tongues of flame spread their reach, jumping from the floor onto the nearby curtains. It began to pick up the pace as it consumed more and more like a starving creature. In seconds, it had spread to all the curtains that spanned across the room-length window. Smoke filled the air, giving the walls a fine layer of ash and soot. In the bed opposite the window, a girl rested her head. Her eyes flashed open as she breathed in the heavy tang.

“Yeah, it was his plan. He was pretty good at crimes and things like that. I didn’t know he was going to catch me though. I thought he just wanted to meet for the fun of it.”

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.

At times, I think the world around me is crashing to the ground, but it keeps going. Like most people, I face obstacles of not making it to work on time, the terror of not meeting deadlines and a large family demanding my time. However, I have never encountered the type of tragedy that can bring you to your knees, that can drive you over the edge, that can influence one’s mind with thoughts of suicide until the wee hours of a mid-June morning, fifteen years ago.

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!”

He opens his eyes to see a slate white room. He turns his head to see a colossal amount of many different flowers. He hears a beeping beside the bed he is laying in. Then, he feels a rush of excruciating pain throughout his entire body. Suddenly, he feels as if somebody is tearing off his leg. He frantically yanks off the white sheets to reveal his a stub leg. He attempted to let out a scream but no air could come out. Finally, his mother runs in with decaying tissues in her hand and red puffy eyes. “Oh Derek!” she exclaims while thrusting him into her arms causing shocks of pain to circulate his body. “They said you might not wake up. Thank you! Thank you! Don’t worry it will be okay. Everything will be okay.” However, Derek didn’t believe anything she said. Nothing at that moment seemed okay. Derek closes his eyes hoping that if he fell asleep he could escape

I wasn’t ready for that. BAM! It hits us again, this time more forcefully, like it is trying to hit us. BAM! It is absolutely trying to hit us. BAM, BAM, BAM, SCREECH, I hear the tires of the large truck stop against the black pavement.

I stretch out on my white cotton bed sheets and yawn uncontrollably. Last night was unreal. I don't really remember anything that happened. I know I was with Angelina and Tara for most of the night. And then I was with Dustin. I didn't want to think right now, I wanted to sleep. But there was no way I could stay in bed any longer. I have to wake up early, even on weekends. It's some sort of "being productive" bullshit. Also I need something for this hangover, so I pull myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom.

It was sad to see it in this state of disrepair, and she hoped to remedy that soon.

"He... um... he's a blue colt," I explained. "Like, all cyan blue, and his mane is a cherry red. He has green eyes, and he's always wearing a satchel around his neck. He shouldn't be too hard to miss."

“Yes.” she answered blankly. At first sight, the man standing in front of her wasn’t impressive, nor a surprise.