The South TowerMature

The intro for a story i wrote for uni, i don't plan on finishing, so you guys feel free to...


You were on the 82nd floor, watching in horrified silence as the whole world stared back. Years from now people will comment about how lucky they were, how unfortunate you were, and about all the appalling or miraculous twists of fate that determined the outcomes of so many innocent lives. Years from now, they will all still remember where they were when it happened.


 This morning, like every other, you will take the subway to work at 7am; bag in hand, in it papers you have spent all night on, and the lunch your wife has made. The train won’t be late, it will stop at the station and you will get on it with your morning paper.  Forty minutes later you will step out of the station at the other end and walk to your office, eighty-two floors up and you will be exactly on time. It is day destined to be like any other – until 8:46 am.


There are certain things in life that you will always remember; the birth of your son, the first dance at your wedding, and that indescribable sound, louder a thousand thunderclaps resounding over the New York skyline.


As plumes of grey smoke rise lazily skywards, morbid fascination will render you unable to tear your eyes from the eerily unreal tragedy playing out at what will become known as Ground Zero, fire will gut the buildings and leave their skeletal frames stretching out bent, broken fingers upwards towards a sun reluctant to shed light over such a heartbreaking scene.



You will think that you are dreaming and you will not be. You will hope to your god that your eyes are deceiving you and they will not be. Every plausible excuse will run through your bewildered mind simply because you cannot begin to comprehend what you are witnessing. All those people in their sheltered homes across the globe will think that they have tuned into some Armageddon film instead of the morning news bulletin. Inconceivable, incredible, inconsolable; these words will be bandied around the 24-hour news channels for weeks, spilling out futile reconciliation. This morning, strangers will gather in front of electrical store windows trying to grasp what just happened, whether what they are seeing is actually happening, praying the words ‘elaborate hoax’.


Very soon – unbeknown to you – the terror you are watching will be reflected onto you, your own world will come – quite literally – crashing down. You will stop and consider your wife and children, consider the cruelty of fate, and the depths of human depravity. For now, you can only imagine what those people in that tower block are going through, the horror, the desolation, the agony. You can almost hear the plaintive outcries of despair. You feel sick.

The End

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