I could never have imagined that when I woke up that day, the whole world would blow up. I turned off my alarm and spent a few minutes mentally preparing for another day in my life as a junior in high school. I showered, ate and then drove my brother and myself to school. I joined the other hundred teenage drivers to fight for a parking spot that wouldn’t require us to walk a mile to the school. I raced into school, not having found the perfect spot, and into my first class: Pre-Algebra, with The Wicked Witch. I slid into my seat, opened my back pack to get out my homework. I passed it to the student in front of me, dreading the grade I would get back. The Wicked Witch collects all the papers with an evil grin on her face, a knowing glint in her eye that she would go through yet another red pen in this latest batch of homework. Class begins as usual with The Wicked Witch teaching in what might as well have been a foreign language, and her students attempting to keep up. Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackles, signaling an announcement is about to be made. My classmates and I perk up, wondering what could possibly have happened to warrant such an interruption to our routine. It’s the principal, announcing for all teachers to turn on their televisions to a local news station. The Wicked Witch walks over and does as commanded, and we all watch in horror as an airplane flies into one of the World Trade Center towers.
The top half of the building collapses, imploding on itself, falling several hundred feet to the street below. The resulting fire and explosion looks bigger and more magnificent than any we’ve seen from the movie industry. We hear the silent screams of the men and women falling helplessly to their death. We imagine the prayers and pleading of the people on the plane, hoping that a higher being will intercede and a miracle will occur.
The reporter begins speaking, and we hear the shock and emotion in his voice as he announces the plane had been hijacked and deliberately flown into the building. The news station plays the scene again, as if we hadn’t already imprinted the event into our brains. We watch for a few minutes more, like spectators to a most gruesome battle. My teacher turns off the television and we all look at each other in wonder and awe that such an event could happen to our country. We thought we were invincible, that no one could touch us. We mourned together at the needless loss of so many lives. My teacher attempted to regain focus and return to the routine, but we knew that even her heart wasn’t in it.
A sudden feeling rose within our classroom. We were horrified, yes, and we would always remember, but we felt banded together. We were Americans, and together we could accomplish anything. We were juniors, just kids, and we knew that our world would change. We knew then that the whole world had shifted.
This is my first time to participate in The Red Dress Club's weekly writing prompts. I discovered this as of yesterday, so there wasn't a lot of time to revise or rewrite. I'm excited to have found this blog!