Issue date: 9/22/08 Section: Features

Media Credit: Courtesy Photo The World Trade Center shortly after the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks.

I was 12 years old in the seventh grade when it all happened. I remember walking into my second period computer class. I came into class a few minutes late but luckily wasn't penalized for it. As I went to join my classmates at the computers they were huddled around. "Have you seen this yet?", one of the students asked me. I hadn't watched television that morning so I had no idea what anyone was talking about. "Look at this..." As I looked at the screen I began to get impatient.
"All I see are buildings. Just wait a minute!" A rapidly moving plane appeared out of nowhere then suddenly, it hit the World Trade Center. One of the towers exploded. A burst of bright flames streamed onto the sky. Everyone was screaming, ladies were crying, people were running, and the dust was swallowing everything in its path.
The day it happened there was an announcement over the intercom by the administrator of our school. "Today is a terrible day. Everyone please come to the auditorium and I will announce everything." I was worried. I was afraid. I didn't know what to think about what I had just seen. While my friends and I walked to the church we didn't have a clue what was happening. Everyone walked slowly into the church auditorium doors as our teacher milled about the sidewalks. When we were seated, the principal and the administrator announced that the second tower had been hit. My heart sank.
I felt for those who lost their friends and family. I felt for my country. I was so afraid. Some students stared in disbelief, some gasped, some cried, and some sat still. I sat still. I wasn't emotionless. How could I have been when I felt so bad for all of those people and for my own country?
We were told to go to the gym. Once we were there the intercom came on again and the administrator spoke. He prayed for us and for the many that were killed and left behind. After everything that had happened, we were sent home. My mother and father picked me up from school and both explained that it was okay for me to be afraid. They said it was okay to be upset. But I wasn't. I went home and went to sleep.
When I woke, tears were streaming down my face and I felt incredibly hot. My sheets and clothes were completely soaked. I had experienced the worst nightmare of my life. My family and I were on the plane. We all died together, we melted in fire and brimstone I heard my mother, my sister, my nana, and my father. I heard my family die. Yet I wasn't afraid because I was with the ones I love.
For the next few days all I heard about was 9/11. All I read about was 9/11. Everyone was talking about 9/11. I couldn't read the newspaper and I couldn't watch the television. When we returned to school the teachers prayed for the government and for the families of those that were injured or killed. I began to get angry because everyday I was wracking my brain attempting to discover why someone would wish to harm our country. Why would anyone want to hurt innocent people? That day, I came home from school and I cried for myself, I cried for my family, and I cried for my country. I cried for the people who couldn't cry anymore and for those that were affected by 9/11
To this day I still don't understand why my country had to suffer pure evil. But seven years later we are still as strong as we were the day that it happened. We made a promise that we will never forget and we won't, and I know there will be a day when America receives justice.

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