Day Eight

The bomb had crumpled the building next to us like a piece of scrap paper. The rubble lay all over the street where the hot dog cart had been at lunch. All I could hear was a loud ringing and the thumping of my heart beat, racing. I knew people all around where yelling and crying, but I couldn’t hear them. People struggled alone to try and pull co workers and friends from the rubble, but without coordination and kinship, everyone faltered. I climbed up on top of a large piece of rock, and brick, and mortar, and started giving directions. At first people were uneasy about leaving what they were doing, but soon teams started to form and as the groups worked together, survivors started to emerge from the wreckage of the day. Everyone worked their fingers bloody to get out anyone they could, if they could. As help started to arrive, they started to take the teams away, and replace them with fortified personnel that had trained all their adult life for this. As they pulled me away, someone patted me on the back and said that I did well to bring people together, but I will always wish that I could have done more. As they took me away, I could feel a sinking in my chest. A wet and cold feeling I had never felt before. It was one of the last things I can remember ever feeling really. I never cried, I never felt, I never loved again after that day.