It all started with a call. Little did I know that I was going to be in danger, and might not come back alive. 

It’s a picturesque day. I just left my pad, and everything is peaceful, and I’m calm, even though the road I’m driving on is jumbled and packed with cars. Usually, even the best of people get frustrated with NYC traffic; they honk and shout at each other to move, but the serene weather and azure sky has put everyone in a jubilant mood. A few moments later, my phone rings, and I answer.

“Where are you?” my colleague, Lia, barks. 

“I’m on my way to the station,” I answer. 

“Hurry! One of the Twin Towers was just hit!” she shrieks frantically. 

“I’ll be there soon!” I reply anxiously. 

I rush to the station, grab my gear, and jump into a truck. Most of them are already gone, I notice. There must be more damage than I thought. I hustle to the scene, ready with my jacket, gloves, and helmet.

Once I get there, I finally have a chance to see the damage. Smoke rushes out of the gaping hole that the plane left behind, and the sharp smell stings my nose. Fire erupts from the building in different places. Shards of glass and fragments of the once beautiful building are littered along the road. About 10,000 gallons of jet fuel was emptied into the building when the plane crashed; all of that fuel burns in a massive blaze. There is so much smoke pouring out of the heavily ruptured building that it can be seen in satellite pictures. Innocent people are everywhere, some of them running, some injured, some watching, appalled. The horrifying sight scars my vision. 

After a couple minutes, I go and find Lia. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

“The Towers,” she replies, “They’ve been hit. We don’t know why the plane crashed.”

I tell her that I’m going in, and that it was an honor working with her, in case this was goodbye. Trembling with fear, I make my way towards the burning tower, fully geared. This is it, I think to myself. Then I run in and get to work. 

The inside of the tower isn’t any better than the outside. The hot, stuffy air is full of dust and debris, making breathing difficult. Everything is charred inside, and walls have massive holes ripped in them. The huge windows are broken into smithereens. In the middle of all the chaos, people are making their slow descent down the few stairways that are still intact. Although some people are able to get out of the building, patiently and slowly, others, who are very panicked or severely injured, need assistance. Suddenly, a low rumble shakes over the building. What’s going on? I wonder. But then I see it. Another plane flying very low, the same thing people reported when they saw the first one. Before I can do anything or tell anyone, the plane rams through the South Tower.

Now people are really panicking. Several people make their way to me to ask what’s going on.

“What’s happening?”

“Was it another accident?”

“Is it a terrorist attack?”

“What should we do?”

I try to stay calm as they bombard me with questions, but everyone is confused, just as confused as me, and they don’t know what to do. I point them towards the staircases that are most safe in this mess, and they start to make their way down. I continue to do this procedure on every floor of the 110-story building. I attempt to choke back tears when I see fellow workers on the ground, almost camouflaged in the debris, even with their bright coats (or at least, used to be bright). Grime covers their faces and bodies. My heart feels heavy every time I stumble upon my friends and colleagues, and grief fills my body.  Eventually I decide to head back down when I think I got as many people as I can, and when I can’t bear to see more of this catastrophe. Instead, I go to the South Tower, which had collapsed not so long ago. 

Once I get down, I grab a bottle of water, splash some on my face and drink the rest. My choked lungs are relieved as soon as the cool water hits them. While I take a break, I think about what’s happening, how many loved ones people lost, how many people are injured, and most importantly, how many people are staying strong, despite the chaos. Now feeling more motivated, I jump up and get ready to save more people. That’s when I hear a harsh, high pitched sound, and I glance up at the North Tower. Little clouds of dust and smoke shoot out from it. It’s collapsing, I realize. 

“Clear the way!” I holler.

“The tower is falling! Run!” 

A cloud of dust and rubble rumbled its way from the building, engulfing everything in its path monstrously, causing more people to run away in terror. It roughly barreled over buildings and people encompassing the street. 

Amidst the destruction, I feel my walkie talkie buzz in my worn down pocket. 

“The Pentagon was hit too. We’re evacuating the White House, the Capitol, several public places, and landmarks,” says Lia. 

As she continues to fill me in on the details of the flight, I find out that all 64 passengers aboard were killed, and that the Pentagon was hit at 9:37. She also confirms that it was a terrorist attack. A wave of shock courses over me. How can people be so cruel? So many people were harmed. Although many people are suspecting that it was a terrorist attack, I still hope that it isn’t. After a few moments I grab my helmet and get ready to go back into the pandemonium.  

My crew and I continue to rescue people tirelessly. The hours keep rolling by while we work. Eventually, it is 5:05. We finally put out all the fires, though we haven’t finished cleaning all the debris, and there are still people missing; I feel gratified. We have worked restlessly for hours and rescued several people. There’s still some throbbing pain in my heart every time I think of my forgotten homies, but I’m trying to focus on all the joy they brought me while they were alive and well, and how much good they did for all of us.

-Trivika Komatireddy