The Horror
Created | Updated Jul 11, 2003
Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup, and looking up, I noticed I was late. Found my coat, and grabbed my hat. Made the bus in seconds flat. Found my way upstairs and had a smoke, and somebody spoke and I went into a dream
Or should I say nightmare.
I followed the crowd and ran into the closest history classroom, where a mass of kids were huddled around the television screen watching in horror as a Boeing 767 flew right into the World Trade Center in New York. But wait. What's this? It appears that the Pentagon is on fire?! How can this be? What is going on?
Twenty minutes pass. We are still watching the news. The footage of the crash is played over and over again. I feel sick to my stomach, for something is not right. Did Peter Jennings just tell me that those planes flew out of Boston's Logan Airport?
I make my way down to the second floor for Latin. I am late, but I am also naïve enough to think that my Latin teacher will accept my excuse. I mean, I had been watching the destruction of my very own country, enough of a disaster to drive anyone to tears, but I was met with the cold question,
Did I have any relatives in New York?
'Well, Mr. ********, I can't seem to think of any at this time.'
And so I sat there in those classes, amazed at the lack of sympathy my fellow pupils had for the death of innocent life. What was really bugging me, though, was that I had this nagging feeling that I was forgetting someone.
And in an instant, I knew exactly who that person was.
What was my mother telling me last night? She was going on a business trip. But where? Where?! It doesn't matter where, I thought to myself as tears rolled down my cheek. Her departure was this morning from Logan Airport. It could have been her plane, I thought to myself. And soon, all of my fears turned into a grim reality in my mind, especially when I didn't have anyone to reassure me of her safety. It was her plane, wasn't it? She's gone. She's gone! The only person in the whole world that ever cared about me, that ever loved me, is gone. Mother! Don't go. Don't leave me. I don't want to grow up alone and without love. You're the only one that cares. You mean too much to me. Don't go mum. Don't go...
By the time school ended, it looked as though I hadn't slept in a month. My face was deathly pale, and bags were hanging under my blood-shot eyes. I was greeted by the mother of an old friend. The look on her face was that of sadness. I had already lost my mother in my mind, so I was begging this kind old woman not to tell me any news that would make me lose her again, this time in reality.
Her wise and caring eyes looked me over. And then she spoke, and her tone of voice was strong, and I could tell from the first word that came out of her mouth that either everything was alright, or she was just trying to be blunt in telling me that I had lost the one thing that could never be replaced, my mother.
But someone was watching over me that day, and the kind old woman gave news that the company had told my mother that the meeting was delayed until later that evening, so she did not need to board any aircraft and could go home. This was all before the crashes had occurred, of course.
And so I ran across the lawn and jumped to the door, then shoved my hand into my pocket and rummaged impatiently for the keys.
The door opened, and my mother was standing there, strong and beautiful as always.
The color returned to my face as I jumped upon my mum and started hugging her and kissing her on the cheek, and telling her that I loved her and that I would make her proud, and that she was the best mother a boy could ever ask for.
And she stared at me in loving bewilderment, and hugged me back, and kissed me on the cheek the special way that mothers do, and told me that it was alright. Everything would be alright.
Now obviously everything isn't alright at the present. I have lost any hope I had in the human race, for everywhere I turn I see acts of hatred. I have witnessed the footage of the deaths of thousands of innocent civilians. A friend of the family was on Flight 11 and, had my uncle not called in sick the day of the crashes, he too would have been victim to the acts of terrorism.
I am now on a quest to find any remaining hints of beauty that the human race holds, for I have been greatly discouraged by these recent acts of cold-blooded murder which stemmed from hatred. If you know where I should I look, then please tell me. I'm begging you. I man cannot live in discouragement for the rest of his life...
