I’m hastily typing on my blog. Click…. Clack…… Click….. Clack. Today the city is gleaming. The sky is a perfectly clear crystal on this early September morning.  The sun has just risen and begun to beam off the skyscrapers and into the window of my office on the 76th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. All of a sudden, my sister, Rachel, intrudes my office with a sour look on her face. What could it be this time?

        "I told mom….She’s furious with you," she boasts. 

        "Wait, what? Why would you do that? You knew I wanted to be the one to tell her!" I retorted, hammering back at her. My palms are growing sweaty. Anxiously, I twirl my long brown hair around my fingers. 

        "You were the one who got yourself into that fight anyway! I had to tell her!" Rachel screams. My face is on fire, but inside I feel cold regret. 

        The room hushes, and all we can hear are the angry cars trying to navigate the cramped streets. She turns around and sharply departs my office. When she gets to her workplace on the floor above mine, I can hear her slam the door in irritation. I don’t want to forgive her, or so much as just talk to her. This is important to me, and she knows it. 

        I try to resist the urge to stomp up to her office and tell her something that would make her just as livid as I am right now. Instead, I take a deep breath, adjust my dress, and bottle up those emotions. Even though I am not happy, the city still is. I get back to work on my blog. 

        After working for a bit, I notice the clock.  It’s a quarter to nine. I decide to take a break and get myself a cup of coffee. As I’m pouring myself my third cup of coffee this morning, something impedes me. BANG!  I wonder what this roaring sound is. Hastily, I check the hallway outside my office. Nothing. It sounds like it came from outside. I rush over to the window.

        The North tower is wounded. A banner of smoke is flowing out of the wound. Flames of resentment burn its broken heart.  My stomach flips faster than any time I’ve ever been on a rollercoaster. I’m not really sure what to do. Quivering in angst, I open up my flip phone, ready to push the afflictive digits. 9…. 1….1. It rings. Someone answers. "Hello?" I shakily mumble.

        "At your service. What’s the emergency?"

        "The North Tower! Something hit it. I don’t know what, but it’s-..." I report urgently. An announcement comes over the intercom, disrupting me. 

        "Everbody…. there has been an accident in the North Tower. For safety precautions, we will start to evacuate the building," an apprehensive voice says.

        I glance down at my flip phone. The responder isn’t there anymore. I scurry out into the hallway to see some of my co-workers fleeing down the stairs. I pull my messy hair back, ensuring I'm vigilant and ready for anything.  I follow, slowly making my way down a few stories. Unexpectedly, I hear another intense noise, similar to the accident at the other tower. This time, much more deafening. The echo stings my ears.  I hear yelling coming from the stories above. "A plane hit a few floors up! Hurry and get to safety," a voice exclaims. My heart is pounding out of my chest.

        Oh no. Rachel is up there. It is so hard to bring myself back though. She makes me really mad. It is as if she doesn’t even care about me. I stop for a second to think, but I find myself turning around. Determined, I march up the stairs into the explosion rather than away from it. 

        When I reach her floor, part of the ceiling is crumbling and caving in. Her office door is ajar. I hustle over to look for her; the flames are chasing me, hungry and ready to consume the building. Her office is a disaster. There is dust and rubble throughout. I thoroughly scan the room to finally seek Rachel. She is trapped under a small bookcase that has tumbled over. I reach out my hand to assist her. Soon after, we are gripping one another, struggling to make it down the demolished stairs. There are a few others with us who are frantically flowing down the stairs.  Now we are covered in dust and soot. Neither of us look back at what once was both ours and the city’s home. 

        Story by story, we make our way to safety with the others who are lucky enough. Rachel and I, still grasping each other, exit the door that led us away from this scorched pile of burning rubble. I take in the sticky and dusty air as it stops my breath short. I stop and turn back to the towers. Two planes are now engraved into them. The scar left over is infused with anger and hate. The exasperated red flames continue to do their job, killing and destroying. I think about the people in the towers with no way out. No one can save them. 

        Full of dust, Rachel is gasping for air. "Thank you. You saved my life. I’m sorry about what I did to you,"  she remarks as we run from the hurt towers. We continue to move to safety, and as we do, I think about how thankful I am that I made the decision to forgive her and go back. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have Rachel here with me.

        I smile, "I’m so glad I saved you. I forgive you." She contentedly wraps her arm around my shoulder in appreciation. 

-Kara W.