Short Story About 9/11

“At about the same time, I was comforting the man who had been hit… He wanted to hold my hand because it was hurting him so bad.”

her thumb bleeds from the cut. The husband immediately rushes to her need. He acted in

“Oh hello there blood this is Dana Cross one of our top doctors and interrogators on Zahltag We call her the butcher.” He says.

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.

"This is 911, what is your emergency?" A desperate eleven year old girl tried to answer the operator's question, but all I could manage were sobs.

"Alright I'll tell you, but first my name is Eren. The girl in the red scarf is Mikasa. What about your name."

Finally, he speaks, “Your parent's worst nightmare, I’m going to turn you and your brother into a lost girl and a lost boy.”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna get into all the gory details, but it went well and he’s feeling better.”

“Hey, it’s okay!” she cooed, “I won’t hurt you!” She confessed, as the boy looked to have started to calm down. “What’s your name?” she

Mom was at the door. She swiftly raise her hand to mouth, a mother’s call for her child. Alice hugs me tightly, and runs into the house. Dad jumps at her. Alice screams and then beautiful laugh.

He runs up to me! “It’s okay, we are safe,” Father attempts to comfort me.

She runs around trying to find someone who can help her, anyone. People enter the room. They are all the “monsters” that Janet has seen. They are zombies. They crowd around her.

He pushes her of him, as she falls on the shining white tiles of the hallway. She rolls onto her stomach and pleads for him not to leave, crawling and grabbing onto his leg. He wiggles his left leg, unhinging her and leaving her on the tiles scream for him to return. He heads for the door and leaves leaving her crying on the floor.

They were brought to the hospital and was patched up. “That that was what one person could do for another, fix him up—sew up the problem, make him all right again. That was the most marvelous thing in the world … I wanted to do that. I always thought it was the one concrete thing in the world that a human being could do.

Suddenly and only for a brief moment the wind ceased, the curtain disappeared and the figure was fully visible. It was a boy, a small, slim boy. She couldn’t really tell how old he was, but not older than 6 years-old. He was covered only by a thin, dirty blanket that was no better than a piece of old, broken cloth and had ripped jeans. Nothing else shielded him from the rough wind while he sat in the middle of the sidewalk. The gloves that were supposed to protect his hands were completely useless, as they had an abundant amount