“Ugh,” I sighed as I rushed around my apartment at 8:15 in the morning like usual. “I’m late for work again,” I said, talking to my cat, Fancy, as if she could reply.
She let out a loud meow.
“I’ll be back,” I said.
I ran out the door, and as soon as I jogged down the hallway, I noticed the elevator doors closing. This is my luck, I thought.
“Wait!” I shouted, but it was too late. The doors had shut. In the process, I managed to spill some coffee down my blouse. Could this day get any worse?
When I got outside my apartment building, the sun blinded my eyes. It was a beautiful, golden September morning. The sun was showing off its rays; the sky was clear of clouds, and the sound of traffic filled my ears. The Twin Towers loomed over me as I made my way closer to them. I lived a few blocks away, but I loved the walk so much that I never took a taxi.
I entered the tall, glass doors of the South Tower and took the elevator all the way up to the 35th floor. On the way up I heard what sounded like a big collision on Liberty Street. The other people in the elevator looked just as confused as I was. When I walked into my office, I noticed something odd: no employees were in sight. I glanced into the break room window and saw all of my coworkers staring at the TV. When I opened the door, no one moved a muscle.
I yelled over to my friend Nancy, “Hey, what’s going on?”
“You wouldn’t believe what’s happening right now. Look!” my friend Nancy said frantically, pointing to the TV.
What I saw was unbelievable. My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened. The North Tower had been hit; it was struck by a plane. A large area towards the top of the tower was in flames, and black smoke engulfed the rest.
“Oh my God! How did that happen?” I shouted, and just as I did an announcement came over the loudspeaker.
“Attention everyone, stay calm. You do not need to evacuate the building; it has not been hit. Stay where you are. I repeat, stay where you are.”
I felt my heart beating out of my chest. The earth-shattering news was unbearable. My phone was vibrating in my pants pocket. My mom called and asked if I was at work. Unfortunately I was, and I was witnessing the whole tragedy. She told me to get out of the building and to go home immediately. I told her I would be fine, just like the announcement had said.
I listened to the news reporter talk about the disaster. He said witnesses believed it was around 8:45 when the plane had hit the North Tower. I watched floods of people running with fear. I automatically remembered my good friend Pat. She worked in the lower level of the North Tower. I didn’t want to call her, knowing she must’ve had so many other people trying to contact her as well.
I decided to take my mother’s advice and leave the building. When I got to the bottom floor about eighteen minutes late, I felt the ground shake and people were screaming. Suddenly, debris rained down.  It looked like the sky had transformed into night time. The whole area was dark, and a thick miasma of black blanketed everything. Waves of employees came running down the stairs yelling.
“Our building was hit! Everyone get out!” someone shouted.
I stood still, frozen in place. I didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. I was completely shocked. People were pushing and shoving to get to the exit. When realization hit me, I ran out into the smoke filled air. I could instantly feel my lungs cry out for clean air. I tried using my shirt to cover my nose and mouth. My legs were moving so fast. I had no destination, just to keep going. I heard sirens, crying, coughing, yelling. I didn’t understand what was happening.
I felt my phone constantly buzzing. My mom called me about 15 times; I couldn’t imagine how worried she was, so I picked up the phone.
“Mom...I’m okay. I’m running...I’ll call you soon. I love you.” I quickly hung up. I was running out of breath, and the only thing I was breathing in was the polluted air. It took over my lungs; I couldn’t stop coughing. I stopped and fell to my knees. A rush of wind grabbed ahold of the swirling debris and pushed it towards me. I lost balance and felt my lungs slowly giving up. Just when I had lost all hope, I felt a hand touch my shoulder.
“Get up! Don’t stop!” a man’s voice yelled.
I pulled myself up on my wobbly feet and started running again. I kept telling myself to keep going. The polluted air was scratching my eyes. Dirt, dust, smoke, things flying in the air battered my watery eyes. I left only a little bit of my eyes open, just enough to see in front of me, which wasn’t much. Smoke covered the whole city. It was like a race between me and the smoke, who could run faster. Well, I was losing; it was way ahead of me. Tons of thoughts filtered through my mind. Will I ever survive? I knew this disaster couldn’t be an accident. Two planes hit both buildings? It was certainly questionable. The day that had started out so beautiful, turned tragic. I knew we must’ve lost so many lives already. It was heartbreaking.
All of a sudden I saw bright light. With the thick black smoke enveloping everything, I had forgotten it was still daytime. I must have been getting closer to safety. It encouraged me to run faster. I felt like I had been running for at least a half hour. I was tired, out of breath, and everything began to ache. When will this be over, I thought. I saw the light ahead of me.
“I think I’m winning the race,” I whispered to myself.
I saw news reporters on the corner, capturing the whole thing. A news reporter came running towards me with a microphone in his hand. “Tell me, how are you taking all of this?” he questioned me, but I could hardly catch my breath.“Do you believe this is terrorist related?” he asked.
An exhausting, “yes,” escaped my mouth. I continued walking.
An ambulance that was driving towards the scene saw me and slammed on the brakes. Someone jumped out and quickly ran towards me. They asked me tons of questions, but I had no response; I was too tired. I noticed two paramedics jump out with a stretcher. The last thing I saw before I was laid upon the stretcher was the sun brightly shining down.
I woke up in a hospital bed with my mother next to me. She was holding my hand and crying over the news that was blasting over the television in the room.
“Mom?” The blurriness of my eyes made it hard to focus on her.
“Baby! You’re gonna be okay,” she said, squeezing my hand tighter.
We both continued to watch the news, and she filled me in on what had happened. Terrorists had taken over four planes and flew them into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and the other had crashed in a field. The biggest shock was knowing that the building I had worked in for years had collapsed. I don’t know how I had survived, but I was lucky. Breaking news came across the screen. Helicopters were filming every minute of it. The North Tower collapsed at 10:30. Tears streamed down my face as I watched it come crashing down. Everything happened so fast. It was too much. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that it was just a nightmare, but it wasn’t.
As the days went on, the city experienced much grief and loss. Bodies were still being pulled from the rubble. I felt nauseous watching the news for weeks. I lay in bed for days and watched the aftermath. I realized that the attacks had taught me a lesson. Osama Bin Laden had planned an attack on our country. He trained the terrorists to bring our country down, but the attack didn’t bring our country down, it only brought us together.