An Attack On America And Suicide On Me

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An attack on America and An Attack on Me As I write this, It is 12:30 on February 10, 2016. It has been 14 years 4 months 6 days 2 hrs and 54 minutes since my life flashed before my eyes. It was 9/11/2001, 9:37 am. It was the breath being knocked out of me and my heart pulled from my chest. It was the reality hitting me that my parents won’t always be. But mostly, it was a reminder to always say I love you to your loved ones. Because, my tragedy came in the form of a jetliner crashing into the place where my daddy worked. At the time, I was only 5 years old. It was my second week of kindergarten, I was not exactly comfortable yet. School was in session and I was playing house, being the dad of course, because I worshiped my father. The loudspeaker came on for teacher to check their emails or turn on the tvs. I turned around and my teacher was on the floor, her hands were to her face and her black eye liner dripped down her cheeks. Some of the students walked over and hugged her, teachers began to congregate. What was going on? Why were teachers all heading to the hallway and screaming for us to do the same? The ground underneath me shook and I began to cry. I didn’t know what was happening. I moved as fast my little legs could take me into the hallway of the tiny elementary school. It was crowded and every child was gossiping about what was going on. “Maybe there’s an earthquake.” “Maybe someone got sick.” “Maybe Mrs. Mack died.” All the ideas were twirling around
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