Creative Writing, out of the Blue

Burning.

Scorching heat radiates from the floor below.

Wincing as pain shot through my skull, I stand. A wave of nausea sends me back to my knees as I

lose my equilibrium.

I take a deep breath, choking as smoke claws at the back of my throat.

Opening my eyes, the lights flicker as they attempt to stay alive.

Not a good sign. This is bad. I shouldn't be here. I want my dad.

I look to the floor, to the clock where it lay. So much time to be counted, never to be had.

Movement catches my attention, in the corner of my eye. There are people around me, standing,

sitting, and supine. Small groups clustered together. Some huddled in a corner, out of reach.

Whispering incoherent things to themselves. Rocking back and forth. Back and forth.

A voice rose. Loud. Demented. Deranged.

"We're all going to die. No one's going to make it. We're all going-"

"SHUT UP!"

Silence now. But we all heard. The tension grew into chaos.

There'd been a plane. A big plane. Crashed, they'd all seen it. It's what happened here, they think.

North tower then South. North then South.

There's a fire too. It'd started lower down. Spreading like a plague.

Following them. Chasing them.

Like a predator on the hunt. Prowling until it finds its prey. Stalking and playing with it. Like a

grotesque game of cat and mouse.

No where to go. Trapped.

Some had jumped, they said. They'd wind-milled, spiralled, fallen, all the way down.

The lights flicker struggling to stay alive then finally die.

Thunder reverberated throughout the tower. Then a jolt.

Collapsed. They repeated it over and over again. The south tower gone.

I didn't move. Paralysed. Shock locked me in place. My joints frozen.

Not long now. Us next not long.

I don't want to die. Not now. Not here.

I want to do home. I want my dad. I can't die. I'm just a small lad. I have a test tomorrow, plans

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