Melancholia That I Kept Inside: Recollections of Surviving the 9/11 Terrorist Attacks as a 4 Year Old Boy

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“You’re not in this alone. Let me break this awkward silence…”

Blared loud into eardrums

 

Eardrums of an emotionally unhinged fourteen year old boy

He shivered in conjunction with the swelling of damp eyes.

 

Those brown eyes reflected

Ponderous thoughts

 

Like proliferating Vegetation

 

The nightmares were breathing

They ate his brain from the inside out

 

Oh!

How they wanted a taste of those eyes

 

And what those Eyes had seen

 

They were always chasing more than they could handle.

 

 

 

3AM.

 

 

Sweat.

 

3AM.

 

Pant.

 

3AM.

Introspect.

 

 

4AM.

 Sleep.

 

How unfortunately familiar.

 

He feared the fleshy memories which his subconscious were forcing him to vividly re-experience.

 

For when he slept,

He became me

 

And when I slept,

The clandestine was revealed.

 

 

Abysmal Black:

 

 

Blood-curdling screams abounded

 

Bodies flew through sky

 

Crash

Hard

More screams

 

More pavement.

My sweaty hand squeezed mothers.

 

The empty and dry taste of anxiety began to stifle his breath,

As fear and black smoke poured into my lungs.

 

The feeling was heavy,

And the concrete chains laced around his ankles

Forced me to sink

 

Sink into pavement.

More Pavement.

 

I was inexperienced.

A pang in his chest was

 

Followed

 

By one in my gut.

 

He turned his head swiftly,

Stared at the smoking tower two blocks up.  

 

Collapse.

More Pavement.

 

Panic,

More Pavement.

 

 

Chaos.

 

A race for survival.

 

I was too short,

His hand slipped,

And I was separated from my mother,

 

"Mommy!" I cried.

 

An echo in the distance

And smoke encroached the area behind

 

Helplessness triggered fear

Fear pulled the trigger of my reality.

 

It happened in one instant.

 

 

So, now you know.

 

I don’t have to hide from what haunts me anymore.

 

 

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