As I wake up I can hear my alarm going off. I rise in joy as I realize today’s the day. I drag my foot along the wood trim as I'm walking to Ma’s room. “Get your stuff together, Mary, today we leave.” I jump up and down in joy as I pace back and forth. 

       Today’s the day. Am I really doing this? Will this really be the day? I walk back to my room, hiding my excitement as I grab my suitcase. I rush to the car. Ma loves our Austin 15 hp; Pops got it for her a few years ago. We leave as we play our favorite song, That Haunting Melody, by Al Jolson; it just came out about a month ago.

       As we make it to the ship, I stare in awe. My eyes glance from one side to the other as it is the biggest ship in the world after all. I look up at Ma because I can tell how she is feeling. We lost my pop to a shipwreck. That was many years ago, so we decided to put it in the past. I can still tell she is thinking about him.

        I look at the clock and become panicked as I realize the ship is about to leave. I’m sprinting up the ramp, rushing to get on. I finally make it, and I am so excited for this moment to come. “All aboard the Titanic. May I please see your ticket?”

       As I am walking on I can smell the fresh paint. New china sits on the walls, waiting to be used. I look over at Ma, and she has a sparkle in her eye. You can tell from that look that she is overloaded with joy. We are in first class because she saved up for the Titanic as soon as she found out about it. We go to the top of the ship to wave down at the hundreds of strangers, smiling, and they too are waving at us.

       We get to our room,  and it is perfect. Even if we don’t have a lot of money to spare after this trip, we know it doesn't matter. I smile at Ma and start hugging her; this is my favorite day of my life. 

       We put on bathing suits faster than lightning as the Titanic is the first ship to have a pool. We get there, and we look around at the people. Some are weeping, and some are overpowered with happiness. I say to Ma, “I know Pops would be proud of us. He would have saved every last penny just like we did.”

       “I know, Mary, he would love to tag along. I know you wish he was here, and so do I. But let's not let that get in the way of our great adventure.” 

       “I know, thank you for this amazing trip,”  I reply. I wanted her to know I would forever be grateful for this trip. We start swimming while Ma is making sure to not get her hair wet. We get out a few hours later and go back to our room to get ready for dinner. 

       We eat, and it is magical. I use the new china, freshly poured water, and I start gulping the food down; it is amazing. I make a few friends, but I am shy, so I make sure to stay by Ma. I think it wasn’t just out of fear they wouldn’t like me, but because I was too scared what happened to Pop would happen to us. We get back to our room, and we climb in our freshly made bed, the sheets so tight that I can barely move. 

       When we wake up I feel so refreshed, and I see it is late. I never sleep in, so Ma is surprised. We get up and walk to the breakfast room. Everyone is staring because they are all wearing velvet and fancy outfits. Ma and I don't care, so we eat the scrumptious food and leave. 

       We make it to the pool after getting ready and sit there enjoying the unbelievable view. The calm but loud waves, the dolphins making noise and jumping. It is unbelievably peaceful, just how I imagined this trip to go. I am unexplainably grateful. 

       A few days pass, and Ma and I  are sleeping as I feel a big bang. I hear a knock on our door. Careful not to wake Ma up, I tip-toe to the door and see Mr. Andrews waiting outside.

       “Hi, Mr. Andrews!”

       “Hello, Mary, it’s nice to see you again. Could you get your mom?”

       “Yeah, but she’s sleeping. I’ll be right back!”

       As I go to get Ma I suddenly have this gut wrenching feeling. I’ve never had this feeling. It feels like the complete opposite feeling from when I first got on the ship. 

       I whisper to Ma as I’m shaking her so she can wake up because I can tell this is a serious matter. I am horrified at this moment. Is it something serious or am I overthinking? 

       Ma wakes up, and I lead her to the door. I am scared for a multitude of reasons. 

       “Hello, Thomas, what's wrong?”

       “It appears the Titanic is… uhm…”

       “What's going on?!”

       “Please put on your safety vest and go to the top of the ship and dress very warm as it is very cold out,” he says, shutting the door on our face.

       I start to panic, the fear taking over my face. I dress warm while not saying a word; I am too afraid to ask. Am I right? Is this what happened to Pops? Am I going to die? Thoughts rush through my head like a river.

       As we are rushing I can’t help but ask Ma, “What’s going on? Is this a drill?”  Ma always thinks of the positives. She always reassures me no matter the situation. You can imagine my fear when she struggles to think of something. 

       “Employees sometimes make erroneous assumptions, Mary. I believe we will be just alright.” I can tell that what she said was the best thing she could come up with. I will admit it helped. 

       As thoughts fill my head like never before I find myself at the top of the ship.  I look for clues of something happening. I hear screeching from down below. Suddenly they stop. The now dead bodies I can see below were sleeping 30 minutes ago, just like me. That’s when it hit me; the Titanic is sinking. I look all around for Ma, but she is nowhere to be seen. I stare down in horror at the hundreds of bodies fighting for their lives. I look down at my feet, and I see cracks in the now wet wood. I can tell the Titanic is breaking like a piece of raw spaghetti. How is it sinking? I thought it was unsinkable. How could this happen? Why to me? Am I going to die? 

       All I know is I either need to jump or rush to a lifeboat. It’s a matter of seconds before I fall into the crevice of the ship, and it will swallow me whole, so I take action and jump. 

       I’m not taking a single second to notice how the below freezing water feels against my warm body; I’m looking up at the commotion. The lifeboats launch half empty. The guns firing. The weeps of the mothers and children leaving their fathers. People are screaming. I slowly climb on a floating door, sure I have hypothermia. It all becomes a blur as my vision goes black.

       As I regain consciousness I look around. Ma always told me hell isn’t a place, but this sure is. I see dead bodies with their pale blue faces staring back at me, and it suddenly sends shivers down my spine. I’m shivering as I count everyone I see; 1, 2, 3… 257, 258.

       Suddenly I am interrupted by a loud honk as I look over. I see the Carpathia. It doesn’t look huge compared to the Titanic. As I’m trying to scream and fight for my life just to get on that boat I see something, a boat full of people that survived.

       I start pushing my hands through the water that feels like 1,000 needles stabbing me all over. I come to a stop and freeze in horror. There’s Ma, and she looks so cold. I burst out in tears. Her bright blue eyes are staring at me, but not in a way she usually does. It is a look of fear, and lifelessness. I can’t bear to see her like this, so scared and so sad. I stay there for what feels like years but is only seconds. I place a gentle kiss on her forehead. I whisper,  “I love you,” and grab her hand as I whisper goodbye. I continue my journey to fight for myself.

       I make it to the boat full of few survivors. We sit in silence for what seems like hours as I can see the trauma in their eyes. I sit in complete agony, weeping silently. That’s when it fully hits me that this is a nightmare. No, this isn’t just a nightmare, this is hell. 

       As we head to the Carpathia I can’t help but keep looking at everyone in the water. Some floating, some sinking, knowing they had much more in their life planned for them. They were like me; they just wanted to have fun. 

       We make it to the Carpathia as people are handing me food, jackets, blankets, and water. I am so overwhelmed and tired that I fall asleep right there. I fall asleep, not knowing or remembering everything that just happened. Thoughts race through my mind, but the thing I think most about is that Ma is gone.

       I wake up to the sounds of cries. I look over as I realize we are docked. As everything hits me I feel the cold again; shivers go up my spine. I am going to turn to Ma when I remember she’s not here; I left her in the freezing cold water.

       I remember looking at my feet, seeing the icy water and cracks in the boat. I remember the feeling of jumping, my stomach twisting and turning. I remember landing in the water no more than 30 degrees fahrenheit. But most of all, seeing all the numb blue faces, seeing Ma’s face. 

       I stay there frozen, not knowing what to do. I have no one to look after me anymore. I let myself lose two parents to the water.  I stand up, not able to feel my legs. I can almost feel the feeling of when I first hit the water, the needles stabbing me like 1,000 knives. I hate this. I just want to leave here with Ma talking about how we had the time of our lives; instead I left her at sea. I hate myself for this. The thought stays in my mind everyday. I could have saved people's lives by taking them with me. Why did I survive? I wish Ma survived instead of me. She deserved it more. 

       I dread walking off the Carpathia, and being alone. But I do. I get off that ship, and every day since I have learned to defend myself. I have learned how to live alone all these years. I have learned how to take care of myself. I have learned to experience trauma and grief. I survived the Titanic.

-Gianna B. 

       The dream of watching the Challenger shoot into the exquisite, brightly lit galaxy was not only mine but my whole team’s for almost a full year now.   Since I was a little girl I knew I'd be a part of something that would affect the whole world. Today, January 28, 1986, was finally the day I had dreamed of my entire life. It was the launch that the whole country had been looking forward to.  

       I stood directly in the sun's rays, gazing at the launch pad. The sky was a brilliant blue and fluffy white clouds filled the empty space. The crisp and clean air filled my lungs with anticipation. I felt a sense of awe and wonder. The shuttle was a beautiful machine, a testament to human ingenuity and determination. I knew that it was capable of great things, and I was proud to be a part of the team that would make it happen. The crackling noise of my walkie-talkie knocked me back into reality. 

       “Beep. Crackle.  Hey Alison, we are going to…” The person over the walkie- talkie paused. Beep. Crackle.  Sorry, we are going to delay the launch. We found something wrong with the shuttle, so we are just gonna double check.” 

       “Okay, Thank you.” A wave of disappointment hit me. I was so excited to watch the crew board and fly off into outer space.

       I walked away from the launchpad, heading back into the building, preparing myself for the long journey back to my office to finish up some paperwork. 

       A few hours later the crackling from my walkie talkie started up again. “Crackle. Beep. Crackle. Okay, we are finally ready to launch; please hurry and get down here!” 

       I let out a sigh of relief and dashed out of my office to the same spot I was before to watch the launch.

       As the countdown began, I felt my heart racing. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. I could feel the power of the engines, the rumble of the rocket as it prepared to launch. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. 

       Just seconds after lift off, everything changed. There was a sudden explosion, a burst of flames and smoke. My heart stopped, and I felt a sense of overwhelming sadness and disbelief. As I watched the shuttle explode, there was a  sense of loss I had never experienced before. I had been so sure that this mission would be known as the greatest mission in American history, but now I never want to think of it again.

       I started to think of the seven members whose lives were claimed by the tragedy, especially Christa McAuliffe, a seventh grade English and American History teacher, just excited to be able to cover new grounds and teach her students from space. I still wonder if there was anything I could have done that would have prevented this from happening, and deep in my heart I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility. 

       That dreadful day NASA lost seven astronauts, parents lost their children, wives and husbands lost their lovers, kids lost their parents, sisters and brothers lost their siblings, and a school lost a teacher. From now on, January 28th, 1986 will forever be known as the day the whole world went quiet.

-Emma T. 

 Chapter 20

       My hunched body rests on a barrel under a bare oak tree. Sokanon is right beside me on another barrel, her gray hairs moving a little in the cold breeze. The sun beams toward us as it rests just halfway above the fluffy white ground, slowly rising to the clear sky. We are sitting right between Plymouth Colony and the Indians’ land. I reminisce on when Sokanon and I were only young girls, and although the other memories are vague, our first time together is still engraved strongly in my mind. The wrinkles on my face are defined even more when I smile and remember life 54 years ago…

       It’s been three months since we first settled here. It has been tough settling, and many of the Saints have died because it’s far too late to plant crops. My growling stomach aches as Father and the other Saints gift the Indians with European weapons and exchange friendly introductions and greetings. While rubbing my tummy to soothe its cry for hunger, a whisper distracts me. 

       “Are you also here to kill us?” A girl to my right is staring at me, her eyes wide open with both fear and curiosity mixed together. My eyes begin to do the same when I process her words, and I’m taken aback by the question. Still, I’m quick to reassure her.

       “What? ‘Course not, we’re here to start a new life. Why’re you thinking we’re here to kill you?” Although I feel tired and famished, Father explained to me earlier that we must be calm and friendly to the Indians in order to leave a good impression. 

       The girl pauses, then replies, “The English people have come here before. They brought diseases and…” She trails off and glances towards the loose dirt. 

       I pause, and then I suddenly understand why she’s so afraid. I nod my head, using the little energy I have, in sympathy. I explain to her how we aren’t here to kill her people at all. We came to escape the Church of England, and we want to be free. I am only famished and weak because we came here during the winter and we don’t know how to survive here. She understands my story, too. We exchange introductions with each other like Father and her papa, who she says is named Massasoit. 

       When the exchange is over, Father tells me the Saints and the Indians have made an agreement to have peace with one another, and that they would help each other whenever it would be needed. My face lights up as he speaks because I’m thrilled that we are all friends now, and I’m more than ready to help the natives forever.

        The wind tickles the leaves, making a crackling sound as I am brought back to now. I realize nothing can stop me and Sokanon’s friendship. After the big feast and our very first harvest in Plymouth Colony, three more ships had arrived after us, including the Fortune, the Anne, and the Little James. Many more people had settled here. Yet the one thing that remains the same is our friendship. I eye Sokanon with a grin. Looking at me, too, her crooked teeth appear, and she smiles back fondly. 

       A ceremony is being held in Plymouth Colony when I return to the settlement. The Saints are gathered around a tall stump, where Peter Bradford, a leader of Plymouth Colony, is standing.

       His fists firm on his hips, his face nothing but a proud smile, Peter delivers an announcement to us.  “I would like to announce a major success in Plymouth Colony.” 

       Next, clearing his throat, he declares, “Plymouth Colony has been expanding rapidly. We’ve built many more homes, and our farms are thriving. We have brought our village far into the Indian’s land!” 

       Everyone cheers, their bliss loud in my ears as I realize they are invading the Indian’s property. Reckoning Sokanon, I comment, “What about the native people? Won’t they be angry with you? Won’t they have no home soon?” 

       Peter brushes it off like dust on his shoes. “Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout it. We made an alliance with 'em some years ago, don’t you remember? The natives are supposed to help us. It’s part of the peace,” he tells me. I half nod as I consider the treaty made years ago. I realize he’s right. The alliance was made to help each other. The Indians are helping us, aren’t they?

       At noon, I go to visit Sokanon, like we do every day. Her hair is tied in two braids, and she welcomes me inside her wetu, but she doesn't have a grin on her face like usual.

       “Sokanon, is there something I should be told?” I ask, concerned. 

       “Yes, Constance. May I tell you?” She glances away, as if she’s unsure whether or not she’ll tell me. 

       “What is it?”

Sokanon hesitates for a moment before replying, “King Philip doesn’t think the English are honoring our alliance.” 

       “Our alliance, how come?” I am confused. King Philip, the native’s chief, is the son of the leader who formed the alliance. 

       “The English have taken a lot of our land, and many of us were forced to move,” she mumbles. 

       I remember what Peter had said earlier. “Sokanon, it’s to keep the peace, of course. We are supposed to help each other, right? The Indians have helped us tremendously! We are gaining a lot more land.”

       Sokanon only smiles slightly. “That’s wonderful to hear, Constance. But please, don’t take more property. Some of the English have not been very good to us. The natives…we are planning something because of it.” 

       “We have to, Sokanon. It’s the only way to grow Plymouth Colony,” I say solemnly. Sokanon would normally be glad that we’re successful. This time, she is quiet.

        When I arrive back to Plymouth Colony, John Sassamon enters our village, an urgent look painted across his face. He strolls to a nearby home, where Peter is. I hear him warn Peter.   “Mister Peter! King Phillip is coming to attack the English! You must prepare Plymouth Colony for the ambush!” John reports.

       “Attack, eh? This colony has been flourishing, I know we won’t be having an assault from those Indians.” 

       John’s urgent look remains. “Yes, Mister Peter. However, please be prepared. They have been plotting the attack for weeks, I’ve seen.”

       Peter brushes John back to his home with his hand, dismissing the threat of an attack. However, I don’t dismiss it. The Indians are planning an attack against the English? How could they? I don’t want to believe it, and the thought of Sokanon, and all the other natives being against us, worries me. The Indians have helped us gain land, the colony is doing immensely well, and I doubt we have stopped honoring the alliance. Why would they choose to ambush us? Nevertheless, I try not to think about it.

       Soon, the icy white sheet melts away to reveal vibrant green plants, and the dirt softens as the sun sets later and rises earlier. We have expanded Plymouth Colony across nearly all of the Indians’ land. My skin feels the warmness of the air, and as I’m resting in my dwelling, William Latham, one of the Saints, enters it with terrible news. 

       “Peter and a few of the other Saints found a body in the pond. It was John Sassamon. The Indians were accused of killing him,” he reports to me, and lines on his forehead appear as he lifts his eyebrows and frowns. He is troubled.

       “The Indians killed him?” I ask for clarification, but I am not surprised. I knew this would happen.

       “Yes, they did. We captured and hanged them today,” he responds. While I feel uneasy at the possibility that one of the Indians might have been Sokanon, I know they had to be murdered. 

       Suddenly, I wake up to the sounds of shrills and the twang, twang, twang, of piercing arrows. Stepping outside, I glance around until I find where the noises are coming from. In the distance, in a nearby village in Plymouth Colony, I make out someone with a spear in their back. Another person is releasing what looks like an arrow at someone else, and I hear a shriek as it hits them. King Phillip, Sokanon’s brother, is there, and he appears incensed. It’s finally happening. 

       One by one, the Indians murder the English. A group of the Saints are released to find Mount Hope, which Sokanon told me in the past is where Philip was born. The houses of Plymouth Colony are destroyed, bodies lie silent in the grounds close to us, and everything has broken out in pandemonium around us. 

       The vibrant shades of green on the old bark trees become reddish-brown, and the leaves are just beginning to fall off of each tree branch. 

       Finally, they come to our settlement. When King Philip and the Indians come,  there’s a large wagon train of Saints nearby me, along with a group of many Saints with weapons prepared who are guiding them. I watch from afar as the Saints still inside the wagon hide further back, and the other Saints take out their muskets, arrows and spears. I try to stay away from them, and I hide. I hide from King Philip, from the dangerous weapons, from the crimson and long gone bodies lying on the dead soil. Bracing myself, I listen to the wooden arrows and piercing spears shooting at us, then the bullets that ring like tiny explosions in my ears. As soon as the Indians leave, it’s silent with nothing but a few of the Saints’ footsteps. There’s hundreds more gory and damaged corpses. The peace between us is long over. 

       All the leaves have fallen now, the trees bare and dull. Tiny dots of white fill the sky, piling up into a thick, frigid sheet over the dead earth. The sky is gloomy. My face stinging, I hide beneath the snow because there’s nowhere safe anymore, and nobody is beside me anymore. King Philip and his people come back to our village, murdering many of us and forcing others to leave Plymouth Colony. A few of them are captured, and I can only imagine what is causing the limpkin wails that I hear that night. 

       The Indians begin to stop harming us as the air, which smells of petrichor and musks, gets slightly warmer and the ground can be seen again. Following the many assaults they have committed, they have become weak. The Saints take advantage, and our army arrives by a river, where the Indians are. Unanticipated, the Indians face an attack that murders nearly 200 of them. 

       By the humid summer, the Indians are even weaker and hiding from us. We’ve caught many of them and sold them away on ships to do free labor. The Saints are on the lookout for Philip. We find him on Mount Hope in one week, and I find Sokanon there, too. She appears weary and dejected. I haven’t seen her in months. I can see in her eyes that she knows what we’re about to do.  

       “Constance…” she whispers sorrowfully. 

       “I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about it,” I reply, remorseful. 

       Not even the vibrant blue sky brightens what I watch in numbness. Peter Bradford knots a single rope around Sokanon’s brother, and he is suspended midair. Sokanon is shivering, even though the air is the complete opposite of chilly. Once he is dead, the Saints lay his wearied body on the ground and disembowel him. His insides are placed to the side. They use an ax to chop off his head. Lastly, his body is chopped into several sections. His head is displayed on a pole at Plymouth Colony. Repentance fills me, but it’s far too late to change what’s happened.  

-Ella S.

 Dear Father,

    I hope you are doing well on the trading ships. I am writing to you because I wanted to share some news. First of all, this past month I have been working very hard on my reading skills! And to my surprise I am now able to read an entire book all by myself. I am looking forward to reading with you as we used to do in my younger years.  Also, I wanted to warn you, many people throughout the village have been spreading rumors about a life taking disease that will be coming our way. My suspicions arise as I know you are away, but I want to make sure you are okay. See you soon.

From your dearest daughter,

Sarah

Chapter: 13

Date: 1347, October, England, Hollow Wood Port 9:00am 

      I wish I could remember more; all I remember is the deadly screams of my enemies. But I am glad it took their sorrow away; their pitying looks couldn't save them. Now that I think about it, I internally enjoyed watching them suffer. When it took away our lives, I was determined to make sure it took theirs. 

      “Come along, Binx! Let’s go see father!” I said, picking up Binx. 

Binx was my darling cat. Black as night, with fluorescent pine colored eyes. 

       “Sarah, hurry up, Sweetheart! I don’t want you wandering off,” Mother said, grabbing my hand.  I will never forget how soft my mother's hands were. Her heart was pure with love. 

      “Coming, Mother,” I replied, “Which ship is father on?” 

      “I don’t know dear, no more stalling! Let’s go find him,” Mother said softly, continuing to hold my hand. “Get your brother, and let’s go.” 

      I grabbed Will’s hand and led him to the ships behind mother, being cautious of where I stepped. I played this game my entire life. If you step on one of the cracks, you would have bad luck for the rest of your life. It was harder now that leaves covered the entire dirt road.  

      We ran along the road up to the ships, where we would meet father after months of experiencing his disappearance.   It looked as if everyone was a statue, looking upon the enormous ships. Before we knew it our joints fused at the sight of it. It really was astonishing. The scent of the salty sea water tickled my nose.  

      Within 50 feet in front of us stood twelve ships coming back from the Black Sea. The sound of the waves crashing against the ships danced in my ears. The east wind howled through my hair. 

      “Where are all the people, Mother? I don’t see anyone on the ships?” I questioned, bringing Binx close to my chest. 

      “I am not sure honey, I can’t see much,” Mother said. She tried protecting her eyes from the burning fog with her hands, just as you would do when in contact with sunlight. 

      “Mummy, I am scared. What if something happened to father?” Will bellowed to Mother. His navy blue hat covered most of his face, but the terror in his voice was indisputable. 

      “Oh Will, there is nothing to fear. I am sure he will be alright.” 

      A bloody scream came from one of the ships, sending a chill down my spine. 

      “They are dead! They are all dead!” 

      “We have been cursed by God.” 

      The evil forebodings that have been following me for the past week have come alive. 

      Without hesitation Mother took off running to the dock, leaving me and Will behind. I couldn't stay behind; my mind was firmly focused on finding my father. Holding Will’s hand tight, locking my arm tight around Binx, I ran.

      I remember what I saw that day. Men lying dead on the boat. Blood absorbed into the ship's old wood; everywhere you walked rats would swerve around your feet. You could hear the faint sound of maggots nipping away at people’s open wounds. I tried to be careful of where I stepped, but I tripped over a dead man's arm that was covered in boils the size of eggs, peas, and some as big as an average apple. The sight of it made me want to puke. 

      From that day weeks had passed. The hundreds of bodies that lay dead on the street multiplied, turning into thousands. 

      “They are really piling up out there. On one hand, we are all quite paranoid. And on the other, keeping your children safe, it’s a full time job!” Father said with humor. 

      The room was silent; Father tried to lighten the mood, but it is hard to keep good spirits when each morning all you see is your once loved neighbors get thrown onto the wall of bodies.  It was like a bolder, crashing home after home. The Jefferson’s were the nicest neighbors! They were like family to us, but just like many others, they got crushed with the disease. 

      Mother was sniffling on the other side of the room, sitting on the floor. It looked as if she was in a trance. She refused to open any curtains or open any doors. It was unfortunate; she started starving herself due to the paranoia of consuming the sickness through food. 

      “Mother, are you feeling alright?” I asked with concern.

      “What are we going to do? We are running out of herbs!” Mother argued, scrunching the tissue she held in her hand. 

      My mother filled the room with herbs to try to reduce the chance of us getting sick. The thought of breathing in the disease sent chills down our spines. We all hoped herbs would help; smelling fresh tulips is much better than getting wafts of dead corpses.

      “Laura, it will be okay. We must keep high hopes that this madness will one day go away,” Father said. 

      He went over to mother and sat next to her. Then I joined them, leaning in for a hug. Will and Binx came along to join. 

      “We must pray to God that we are all okay, and for further safety,” Father spoke. I sat on his lap; I could feel his grayed stubble along my cheeks. 

      “Our father, we are here praying today asking for your forgiveness. Our sins are now acting upon us. Send us a sign of what to do. Save the righteous, save the holey. Take away this horrid disease. In return we will no longer sin. In your name, we pray,  Amen.” 

-Lizzy H. 

        “Soldiers, pay attention and stop moaning while you're at it.   We are two miles offshore, near where the biggest seaborne assault ever known by humanity has begun to take place," the sergeant said above the roaring wind and the crashing waves.  “I would like to wish you very well and remind everyone that all of us are fighting for our nation and the 31,595,001 victims of the Nazis. That many people will never see their families again—that is far too much. It remains unacceptable. I wish you well and urge you to follow this plan diligently. Let's go kill some Nazis as well!”

         The mere notion of killing someone caused my entire body to tremble violently. Nevertheless, I embraced the truth that I would kill to not be killed. Then my only friend in the whole  training camp said, "Hey man, I just want to say it was great being with you, you know.  We ain't going to make it; you must know that the chief is just spouting some random crap," he added.

       “Well, I guess I will see you on the other side," I replied shakily.

       The people at the front of the line glanced back at us, and the look on their faces mirrored what Cooper just said: they knew they were going to die.

       I felt the pounding of my heart and felt the color draining out of my face as a sea of bullets ripped through the front half of the boats. Shouts of agony rang in the air. I stumbled through the crowd of dead soldiers, and as I got out of the boat safely, I realized the water had turned red from all the gore and blood as it oozed out of the side of the boat, leaving me in despair at how many losses I just witnessed. 

       A mysterious feeling arose in me as I scanned around for Cooper, realizing he was nowhere to be found. A gurtling scream escaped my mouth as I sprinted over to the bocage, only to realize there was more land. I quickly looked around as I saw a person drive an armored vehicle with a crazy look gleaming in his eyes. I looked in his truck and saw his dog tag glimmer, reading Michel Kavanaugh. I looked giddily at the side of his tiger tank; it said dumpster truck, as if we were trash. But my humor quickly dispersed with realization. I saw Cooper down with a few soldiers, and the rear of the truck started up and started zooming towards Cooper and the soldiers with admirable speed. Time seemed to stop as my heartbeat slowed. "He’s going to kill Cooper with his truck!"

 

       I crouched behind a flat rock as I glanced back because the constant boom of mortars raining down on the beaches made me flinch, blowing bodies up into the sky, thousands and thousands of dead bodies, then littered across the floor.

       I let out a ballistic scream of rage, and my instincts snapped into place. I reached over to my side for my gun and forced myself to steel my nerves. To take the shot, wondering why this has to happen to anyone, watching their friends die and possibly dying themselves. 

       Just then, the air stiffened with dread and death—the hum of motors and the crashing of boats; the boom of projectiles being thrown around. The comforting, lush breeze, which was the only calm thing in this damn world right now. As I zoned back in and focused my sight on the horrifying truth that Cooper was going to die, I wanted to cry, not just for my friend but for the thousands and thousands of others.

        This coastline had endured an excessive amount of tragedies. The rifle fell as my shoulder smacked into the ground, but my sight clicked while it responded to the unexpected jolts of motion. Cooper and the soldiers were now excessively close to the vehicle for Cooper to be diverted from harm, but I had to hope. My face started to get extremely hot. I lined up the shot and grimaced as I curved my finger toward the trigger and fired, the force of the recoil kicking back towards my face, yet just as I had hoped, the shot struck him center in the forehead, causing blood to continually gush out of his head, and the look of horror in his eyes that had been previously brimming with joy to continue stripping away lives and operating enthusiastically was no longer present. Then his body started to slump over. I let out a whoop of momentary happiness, which again instantly burst as I realized the truck was still moving. Their screams of agony rang out, but the one who was the loudest was funny, smart, ignorant Cooper, the crushing of his bones ringing loudly in my ear. I just sat on top of the hill.

       Uselessly and horrified at the sight, wondering if it was all my fault (after all, I was the reason he signed up),  I quickly scrambled at the sight of dead bodies scattered around. I began to pound my hands against the ground as I vaguely felt tears beginning to stream down my face. 

       At this point, I totally lost it. My breath became ragged and unsteady. My heart started racing so fast, and I started to rip at my shirt where my heart was. I made an attempt to will my heart to go to him, praying that I would pass away instead of him. I narrowly escaped being hit by a gunshot. I instantly fled for shelter, still fuming and determined to impose retribution on the people who murdered my pal. I dashed towards the freshly destroyed tiger tank, which was now a burning ruin; careful not to get burned, I ducked behind it. And then, after a brief pause, I began to rush in the direction of the dreadful number of Nazis in gray uniforms who were slaughtering several groups of troops. I started firing at the Nazis right away without stopping, and I ultimately managed to kill all of them. I ran towards the Nazi fort while continuing to feel adrenaline flooding through me. I grabbed a grenade while sprinting and hurled it into the fort, destroying the Nazis in the blast's vicinity.

       The Germans tried to defend their fort for several hours, but eventually the remaining allies and I took the fort and forced the Nazis to retreat with terror boosting them. I started to bend my legs out to run after the nearest Nazi, filled with grief and fully aware that I would never have more moments with my amazing friend. 

       As I was about to start, a comforting hand lay on my shoulder, forcefully holding me in place. Turning slowly, I realized who was stopping me from achieving my revenge; my oh-so-lovely sergeant, who not that long ago was the most scary person I had ever met, said, "The fort has been cleared out. We survived this part, but we have a long road ahead of us, so we need you alive for it, and pointlessly charging into the enemy's hands would not be what Cooper wants for you."

       I sighed, knowing that it would be futile to fight, but swearing to avenge all those who harmed Cooper, while I observed the Nazis escape into the first rays of sunlight. I abruptly comprehend that my fight hadn't been only for my own survival, nevertheless for Cooper and all of those who perished who were wrongfully deprived of the chance to spend time with their loved ones due to the Germans' tyranny.

-Colin C. 

        “Heil Hitler!” I saluted my friend, Ralph. 

       “Heil Hitler! Hi, Jack!” Ralph bellowed slightly too loudly in his ebullient voice. Our crisp Hitler Youth suits made us look identical and smart under the fading Dresden sun. The leaves of the Douglas Firs wavered on its branches, then finally falling, like a tiny pebble rolling off a cliff. The sudden yelp of vendors on the streets made me snap out of my fantasy.

       “Let's go,” I insisted. It was getting late, and school was about to start at 12:00 PM. We elbowed into the street. Ralph stuck out his tongue and spit in the face of a woman wearing the Star of David. I elbowed a man wearing the same thing; he turned around and glared. I was startled but immediately covered up and glared even harder back. Who was he to disrespectfully look at a member of the Hitler Youth? I stuck out my tongue and spit all of the spit I had into the face of the scrawny man.

       The light, fall breeze combed my hair, delivering the curled up, brown corpses of what used to be flowers. Birds landed and left, leaving behind their peaceful chatter. A distant radio played the Heil Hitler Dir. Even though there had been many bombings on cities around Germany, there was still a bit of spirit.  The myth was that the Germans were somehow losing to the Allied Powers. All of this was nonsense. How could we lose? The thought of Germany losing made my blood boil. The mayor had said that it wasn’t likely that Dresden would get bombed because there were many refugee centers scattered around. Why weren’t people listening to their own mayor? I had heard many muffled conversations between Mother and Father about the occasion. I wasn’t worrying, though, because we had an excavated bunker in our house. We had a built-in alarm, too.

      My quiet walk with Ralph was suddenly interrupted by the school screeching like a hawk. It’s fine, just another fake attack. Ralph sprinted to the school, dragging me with him. I made sure he didn’t crinkle my suit, just in case we still had class later. 

       “Ralph, stop pulling! It’s probably fake!” I exclaimed, purposely stamping my feet to slow us down. Teachers were directing students to  bunkers. With no warning, Ralph’s grip was ripped away from mine, and we were separated. What a mania. I was prodded into a shadowed bunker, and the room was abruptly permeated with darkness. Kids sniggered. Teachers shushed. All I could see was the line of light coming from the gap between the door and the wall. It was calling my name. I stared down with petulance. There was no way that this alert was a real one.

       The line of light that led to the outside world gradually dimmed, leaving me with a pitch black room that smelled of sweat and lacked oxygen. Dresden was supposed to be safe. Prosperity was supposed to be Dresden’s motto, not war. Gradually, my eyelids rocked, pulling with fury, not letting me stay awake. My neck gave up on keeping my head up. 

       CRACK! POOF! My head bolted upright so fast that I nearly twisted my neck. Was that a plane?! The bomb was going to fall. I would be dead. Ralph would be dead. Mother and Father would probably be dead, too. Why is war so evil? Tears that hadn’t formed since first grade came to my eyes. My breath was a car swerving. I was scared my heart would crash and never start again. Every part of my body was petrified, including my breathing. Nothing fell, though. There was no heat up bomb and no explosion. The air was stuffy and awkward. I became restless. The cycle of anticipation repeated as planes kept zooming by. The worst thing was that the door to the bunker never opened. 

       Finally, after much suffering, the hatch opened, and we were told to immediately go home and seek safety. I glanced at my lavish B-Uhren watch. It was already 10:00 PM, and the city seemed unharmed. Since I couldn’t find Ralph, I ambled home. Adults chatted outside of their homes. Children that were too young to go to school played aimlessly. We all wanted a breath of fresh air despite the fact that it was pitch dark.

       Within 15 minutes of my dark walk home, I heard something highly disturbing: a popping noise. At first I thought it was those stupid kids trying to make me cross. Then, it was Father chopping down a tree. Finally, it was the sound of dispatching bombs. Everyone outside lifted their heads to the sky, trying to spot a flaming bomb in the midsts of the universe. 

       Then, something caught my eye. It was a barely seeable dot, shooting down. There was a slight bit of light added to the circular piece of projectile, which made it clear that it was there. Then, the dot disappeared, only to evolve into an explosion, firing up into a beam of light. My breath was caught in my throat. It was as if the Sun was crashing into Earth. The freshly plowed land was replaced with a fired up hole. More dots showered Dresden, the safest city in the world.

       Within seconds, the city was in a frenzy. All of the bombs that landed, I noticed, were firebombs, bombs that not only exploded, but also created a mass amount of heat and fire. 

       I dashed around, looking for a hiding spot. With each step I took, ten degrees were added to the temperature. I was nowhere near home! Sweat burned my body. Fire bit my leather shoes into ash. I bowed my head and ran. Roars rattled my eardrums unrelentingly as fires tortured me left and right. Fighting the urge, I stopped running and let the rest of my community stream by me. I was a rock in a gushing river. I thought Dresden was safe! The mayor lied to me! 

        Looking around, I witnessed the most frightful sight ever. People, young and old, were running for their lives. A grumpy, poor old lady that I had kicked in the shins yesterday collapsed right behind me. I didn’t see my parents. I was surely about to kick the bucket. 

       My shoulders shook uncontrollably. I dashed around purposelessly, trying to find a place that was safe to hide. Bunkers and houses were useless at this point. Although they could block bombshells, they couldn't block heat. I would die of high temperature, just like the people piling up around me. My vision blurred. I felt like a flying fish, struggling to breathe. My heart pounded as fast as a cheetah, and before I knew it, everything went dark.

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       “Close…that was real close. ” A withering mumble made me snap awake but immediately lay down from dizziness. 

       “Take it easy, buddy,” the somber voice echoed in what sounded like an enclosed room. An old man above me came to my vision. And then I saw it. The Star of David. He was Jewish. I gasped and started to try to escape. Panting like a dog, I was rooted to the ground, hands shaking and heart pumping.

       “T-t-there are bombs…,” I was at a loss for words. This was the worst case scenario. 

       “I am well aware of that,” the old man replied.

       We stayed in the basement of the old, creaky house, accompanied by only each other and the sound of bombs and planes. The old, Jewish man told me that he had spotted me laying on the ground when he was heading down to his bunker. He risked his own life and had run out into the thunder of bombs and rescued me from entering death’s door. 

        “I wasn’t afraid. I’m as ripe as an apple, anyways. So, child, do you know what you did wrong?” the old man asked.

       “What do you mean?” This wasn’t a school. What had I done wrong?

       “People are dying - mostly Jews. Many of them once had your spit on their faces,” the old man answered grimly. 

       I stayed quiet, ashamed. How did he know? Why had I spit in their faces anyways, though? The old man shook his head in dismay and turned away toward his tea. 

       I spent two nights in the bunker, barely getting any sleep. I came to learn that this bunker in which I was in was a very deep one. It was isolated below the old man’s house and was indeed heat resistant. When the old man had told me this, I sighed in relief but also smiled a bit in gratitude. I never knew Jews helped Germans. Jews are supposed to hurt Germans! 

       Gradually, the bombs stopped. The old man and I emerged from our hiding spot to find a stunning scene. Nothing was still in its regular shape.

       “Wow,” I mumbled in both amazement and regret.

       “We may be the only ones alive.” The old man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped down all the sweat and ash on his forehead.

      I walked home and suddenly realized that I had been lucky. Not only did I escape the bombing, but I had luxuries that others didn’t have. I had parents. My parents at least had a bunker. We weren’t poor. All of these had acted to my advantage. Why had I ever even assumed Dresden to be safe?

        I gazed across the city and caught sight of the limp body of the man that I had elbowed outside of my house. Oh no. I fell to my knees. These people didn’t deserve to be like this. Tears welled up in my eyes, and it was too foggy to see anything. This was not right; none of it. My mind was a tornado, thinking. I had been really disrespectful, I noticed. Not only did I spit in people’s faces, but I had disrespected myself, too. If bombs had started to fall when I was trying to slow Ralph down, I would have actually died right there and then. 

       Standing up, I felt stronger and lighter. I was going to do something about the injustice of Jews. After all, a Jew had saved my life. 

-Catherine Z.

        My father was in the way of my first class seat. 

       ¨Move, Dennis,¨ I demanded. 

       He sighed and hoisted my Louis Vuitton suitcase into the overhead compartment. I took my new Fjallraven Kanken backpack with me to my seat. Usually I get more expensive bags, but this bag is soo popular on TikTok; I just had to get it. 

       I sat down. The seats were plush with a deep navy blue. The plane was going to be landing in Kenya. I wasn’t excited - in fact, I was dreading the trip. It was our annual trip to a new country. I didn’t get how my dad wanted to do this every year. It was getting old. I would rather be at home, shopping with my friends or maybe hanging out at our golf club. But anyway, this year we were going to Kenya. 

       First we went to Ethiopia. My father had to go to a business meeting with the President, Sahle-Work Zewde. He was very excited and said it would be good for his business. He was the CEO of the aviation company Boeing, which made the plane we sat on and many idling on the runway around us. 

       Many passengers were still loading onto the plane. I pitied the ones that continued behind the curtains into Economy class, for they were going to be packed like sardines in the miniscule seats. Up here, the seats were spacious and posh. The overhead compartments were large and gray. 

       My father sat down next to me. I leaned my head against the mini window and sighed. I opened up my bag and looked inside. It had the basics: a hydro flask, scrunchies, lip gloss, my wallet, airpods, and my iphone XS. I took my phone out. My lock screen was me and my mom, Rebecca. She passed away six years ago, when I was seven. I missed her now as much as I did then. Life was so much better when she was around. 

       I texted my friends.  Leaving soon, miss you guys. I then took out my airpods, put on my music, and turned my phone on airplane mode. I started to doze off. 

       Through the fuzzy feeling of sleep, I heard the word “crash.” I groggily opened my eyes. The flight attendant was still talking through the speaker. I took out my airpods.

       “We have taken many precautions to prevent it from happening again.” 

       Again? What did they mean, again? I looked at my father. He was reading yet another article about Trump’s possible impeachment. “There was a plane crash?” I asked.

       He jumped a little. “Oh,” he said. “I thought you were asleep.”

       “That doesn’t answer my question. Was there a plane crash?”

       He looked down and pursed his lips. “Yes.”

       “What? When?” 

       “About five months ago,” he confessed.

       “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

       He glanced back up at me. “I didn’t want you to be scared for this trip.”

       I exhaled loudly. “Whatever. What plane was it?” 

       “737 Max.”

       I widened my eyes. “We’re on the same plane!”

       He ran his tongue around his teeth and nodded. A flight attendant passed us, giving us an agitated look. My dad gestured to me to be quieter.

       “You investigated it, right? They fixed the problem?”

       “Yes. The pilot’s were inexperienced, they didn’t know what they were doing.”

       I frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Don’t they have to get really good training in order to fly?”

       My father rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying, Kylie, everything’s fine. Just go back to sleep.”

       I put my airpods back in. I couldn’t believe it. My dad has been getting on my nerves a lot lately. Actually, since Mom died. He was always so anxious and fidgety. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but as soon as we took off I was out.

       A few minutes later, I awoke because of some turbulence. My airpods were playing my favorite song, Sunflower. I opened my eyes. My dad was sleeping. I looked at the woman across the aisle from him. Her face was stricken. In fact, so was everyone around me. What was going on? The speaker crackled on again. Just then, my stomach dropped. It felt like we were headed down. Didn’t we just take off? 

       “We are experiencing some difficulties with the automatic flight system. Stay calm and in your seats.” 

       My stomach dropped again, but this time it wasn’t because of the plane.  Everything that my dad said came flooding back. How the plane in 2018 crashed, how it was the same model we were on, and how the reason for the crash didn’t really make sense. 

       My breath quickened.  I whipped around to face my dad. He was still slumped over, asleep. I grabbed his shoulders and started shaking them. He mumbled something but didn’t wake up.  “Dad, wake up!”  Hearing the urgency in my voice, he straightened up. 

       “What? What is it?” he asked.

       “The plane is going down and the pilots can’t fix it!” I yelled.

       “Shit.” He leaned his elbows on the little table in front of him and put his head in his hands. I turned the other way and threw the window cover open. We were still heading towards the ground. I twisted around and looked over the back of my seat. Everyone was panicking. Mothers and fathers were grabbing their children,  and people were crying and reading the crash safety packet with shaky hands. Babies started sobbing, and soon they were not the only ones. 

       “We are attempting to shut off the automatic flight system. Everyone, try to stay calm,” the overhead speakers commanded. 

       Calm? How could anyone stay calm during this? The plane was going down for god’s sake. I turned and faced my dad again. He was still sitting there, looking paralyzed.

       “Aren’t you going to do something? You are the CEO of the company, you have to help somehow!” I yelled.  

       He looked up and out the window.  “I can’t,” he said in a raspy whisper. 

       “What do you mean, you can’t?” 

       “Yes, I know what’s happening. The MCAS-”

       “What are those?” I questioned.

       He shook his head. “Part of the automatic system. They make the plane go down because they think we’ll get stuck if we go up. And even if the pilots shut the MCAS down, there is still not enough weight in the back of the plane to pull it up.” 

       I could not believe this was happening. 

       “Listen, Kylie, if I knew-” 

       I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up, cutting him off. I made my way past his seat and to the curtains dividing the first and second class. 

       “Everybody, stand up and get to the back of the plane!” I commanded. 

       Three or four people got up and started scurrying to the back. Everyone else was looking at me, wondering what a teenage girl like me was trying to do. Tears started leaking from my eyes as I realized they would never go to the back, and even if they did, it would still not be enough to make the plane head back up.

       “We are turning the automatic flying system back on as there is no other option,” the speaker said. “Everyone, get back to your seats.”

       The people in the back looked at me for clarification, I have no idea why, but I gestured for them to sit back down.

       My stomach dropped again as the plane buckled. I fell to the ground. Passengers started screaming in fear. I crawled on all fours back to my seat. I stepped over the legs of my dad; he was gazing at me with tears in his eyes. I could not look back at him, a hatred for him burning in me. I don’t know exactly why, probably because he should’ve known this could happen, and investigated more in the last crash. Maybe it was because he was greedy, maybe it was because he was never really there after mom died. I guess I’ll never really know. 

       “This is the pilot speaking.  We can not pull the plane back up. Everybody put their oxygen masks on and brace for impact.”

       I froze. This could not be real. Everything slowed down. The masks dropping from above, my dad putting mine on my face before putting his own on. Screams echoing all around me. My dad bent forward and leaned his head and hands on the seat in front of him. I somehow unfroze and did the same. We were looking at each other.

       “Love you, Kylie.”

       I stared at him and opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t do it in time. Everything was red, then black. 

       Some time later, there was a blinding light, threatening to break through my eyelids. Was this heaven? I opened my eyes. Just like that, pain began searing through my body. I rolled over. Shards of shrapnel were poking me. There were actually chunks of metal and dirt everywhere. The plane must’ve crashed in a field somewhere. I recalled the last moments on the moving plane. How I was going to say something to my dad?

       Right. My dad. Where was he? I began doing something like an army crawl over the grass and metal. I saw a silhouette and crawled toward it. It was him. I reached out an arm and shook him. He did not stir. My face hit the ground, realizing his last moments were spent waiting on me. Everything faded to black again.

       Now there was a new light, pure and with colors I had never seen before. I could feel no pain anywhere. 

       “Kylie!” A woman’s voice called.

       I smiled. I knew this, this was heaven.

-Camille W.

        The ringing of my alarm clock yelled for me to wake up. I shuffled myself out of bed and rubbed my eyes, welcoming myself into the world. The sun shined through my window, lighting up my room in Hoboken, New Jersey. My mom was pacing around the kitchen, getting herself and my breakfast ready. I threw my clothes on as fast as I could and rushed into the kitchen where eggs and bacon were waiting for me. My dad passed by me as he left for work. Both he and my mom worked in the Twin Towers for Bank of America, but he had a higher position than my mom, so he had to leave earlier.

        My mom and I left 20 minutes after my dad did so she could drive me to school. The weather was nice, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so I knew I made the right choice by wearing my favorite cargo shorts and graphic t-shirt. Just ten minutes later I was sitting in my homeroom at Apple Montessori Middle School, waiting for the bell to ring. 

       “Jack Harris,” my teacher called.

       “Here,” I quickly responded, not wanting to be marked absent.

       When the clock struck 8:30, the bell rang, and everyone flooded the halls. People went every which way to get to first period. Just 30 minutes into first period people started talking about a plane crash and whispering about something that happened in New York City. Anything that happened in New York especially was a big deal because we lived so close. Teachers tried to keep it quiet and hushed the students talking about it, but it still spread like wildfire.

       “The Twin Towers,” said one student in my class. “Two planes hit them and they both crashed to the ground.”

       “No they didn't; it's just a rumor,” said another. 

       My heart stopped, and I went quiet. All the feelings I have felt before and some I haven’t came flooding to me. The terror and thought of my parents dawned on me and made me sick to my stomach. What happened to them? Were they okay? Did they get hurt? I stopped thinking; nothing inside of me was working. It was like it turned something inside of me off and it would never turn back on.

       By lunch everyone had heard what happened, and there was no denying it. The smoke rolled through the sky for miles growing closer and closer to the school. Teachers were scrambling, and students were talking. It was clear blue, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but now the sky was dark like one big smokey debris cloud concealed and painted the whole sky and didn’t want to let one ray of sunlight through.

       That day teachers didn’t really give work, and if they did no one did it. People were all too distracted by the Towers, and this included me. I couldn’t get the thought off my mind. Were my parents hurt, or did they die? I hoped and prayed they were both okay, but I knew that was unlikely. 

       I sat in my last class of the day staring at the clock. One minute passed, and then another, and soon the bell rang. I rushed out and onto my bus, knowing I couldn’t get home fast enough. 

       I bursted into my house and rushed to turn the news on. In seconds I knew it was true. All over the news they were talking about it.

       “At 8:45 a plane hit the North Tower in New York City near the 80th floor,” said one reporter. “Just 18 minutes later, at 9:03, a second plane hit the South Tower near the 60th floor.” 

       No one was home, and no one was going to come home. I sat there that night and didn't move. I just sat there and stared at the wall. The TV still played, but the thought of being alone and never seeing my parents again hurt me in ways I had never hurt before. I didn’t just stub my toe or trip and fall. My parents were dead, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

       The sky was still smokey and dark from the previous day, and the sun didn’t shine when my alarm clock woke me up. I had to get my own breakfast ready this morning and pack my own lunch. No one was leaving for work early in the morning, and no one ate breakfast with me. It was just me there by myself. I didn’t want to accept it, but I had to.

       I had to leave extra early for school because I had to walk. I inhaled the leftover smoke from the day before as I walked to school. I tread for miles just to get to school, and when I finally got there I was exhausted.

       No one was smiling and laughing like normal. Everyone was just sad, and upset, but I didn’t blame them. I didn’t laugh either, but I also didn’t cry or show it. I just showed up and was there. I didn’t do all my work like a perfect kid, but I didn’t do nothing. 

       My friend approached me in my last class of the day.   “Do you want to spend the night at my house?”

       My face lit up, and soon his did too.

-Cameron K. 

       “Let the troops pass by, and don’t molest them unless they begin first,” Captain shouted.

        “On no account will you fire or even attempt it without orders,” replied an angry, distant voice. The tension built up, hovering like a cloud of smoke; nobody spoke, and none inhaled a single breath. “Ye villains, ye rebels, disperse! Damn you, disperse!” 

       The voice was so hateful, so soulless, so destructive. It could cleave through morale as a sword did through flesh. And yet, despite this, no response. All was silent, still as a pond, until someone made a horrible mistake.

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       It had been a nervous day and a dingy night. The grass, which sparsely covered the dusty ground, was fresh and green, with several small drooping flowers of yellows and whites scattered here and there. Horses neighed in their stables, people slept in their houses, and all was akin to how it had been a few weeks before, the first night that our spies had heard would be full of British activity. 

       No updates on the Brits had arrived yet, and the atmosphere was becoming more tense with each passing second. Breath was rushing from my lungs; it felt like there wasn’t enough air to replace it. Exhausted and thoroughly bored, our ragtag force prepared for another round of drilling by our lead man, Cap’n Parker. And another round did come, though the drills were growing shorter in duration and farther apart in occurrence. We watched and waited; we waited some more. And at long last, we got a sign. 

       The silence broke as the Old North Church’s tall stone steeple was alight for a moment with the illumination of two lanterns. And so, we prepared, for this night would be one stained with the blood of many soldiers, remembered forever.

       Frenzied movements echoed across the field like a fly’s wings beating. Guns loaded, swords sharpened, nerves went awry as the moment drew closer. Hands shaking, legs locking, I stood and waited for something more to happen. Not a soul could bear the suspense a moment longer; we all wanted to know our fate – would we live or die at the hands of these monsters? – and the time we’d learn this would arrive soon.

       “Joe, when the dust clears, if I ain’t alive no more, just know that I cared for ya’, alright?” nervously muttered my closest companion, Mike, under his breath.

       “You won’t die. We won’t die. Tonight will be just like that war with the French and Indians we won,” I asserted, trying to comfort him.

       “I hope,” he replied skeptically, “I hope.”

       Gesticulating and murmuring, Mike and I continued to converse, slowly moving away from our party. Suddenly, heavy hooves pounded the dry, sandy dirt, thumping in a droning cadence. It grew closer, turning from vibrations in the tightly packed dirt to louder stomps. Dust flew into the distant sky, but not for long. The rider slowed down, concealing each mighty step of his animal. Revere had finally arrived with the message.

       “The Regulars are coming! The Regulars are coming!” Revere hurriedly and discreetly declared to our group, riding past to deliver the news to the others.

       “Saptern and Elliot! O’er here! Now!” boomed Parker.

       “Yes sir!” we mindlessly reported, marching into formation. We only had to wait a tad longer, for soon they would be here.

       Stumbling and staggering from the harsh wake-up call, a few more soldiers arrived, all just as nervous as we were. One went by Noah, another by Asher. There were a few others, though now I cannot recall their names. Parker announced something to us, but I was distracted by talking with Mike. We heard something akin to boots stomping on the ground but ignored it. Soon, it became louder, and we looked up from our conversation.

       That was when we saw the Redcoats dressed to the nines in red togs with black hats atop their cruel complexions. Fierce, highly trained soldiers, able to handle the musket and sword. Their mere presence made us stop and reconsider what we were doing. How foolish could we be to challenge such a great force as them? Even so, they had a weakness. Their motivations were weak. We were fighting for pride, liberty, and our family. They were fighting for their lives and their king because they had to. 

       They marched and rode closer, closer, closer, brandishing their swords and bayonets and loading their muskets. They would strike fear in any army, but not us. We would stand our ground and fight until we could no longer do so. In only a few moments, they had arrived. It was time for an encounter with the most feared army of them all.

       A cacophony of stomps and silent whispering filled our ears, war’s symphony. As the red grew brighter, our fear rose higher. Adrenaline flowed through our veins akin to the liquor which gratefully we shoved down our gullets during long nights at the Tavern. We weren’t as sure of ourselves as we had been before. The land was not abuzz with the same laughter and boastfulness as it had been in that Tavern when our beer-addled brains were sure we would be the victors of this dreadful battle. Alas, we still stood firm as the finest swords. Both sides were neat in orderly lines as our captains gave us commands.

       “Let the troops pass by, and don’t molest them unless they begin first,” Parker shouted.

       “On no account will you fire or even attempt it without orders,” responded a distant voice. Everyone became tense with the realization that someone might disobey and shoot their guns. “Ye villains, ye rebels, disperse! Damn you, disperse!”

       Shaking, the tight grasp on my musket was lost, and at that exact moment, my finger slipped. I fired the shot; the shot heard ‘round the world.

       The bellowing blast of exploding gunpowder pushed me back a few inches, the sour smell of combustion filling my nose. And so, every remaining soldier fired, some out of instinct, some from memory, and others from training. As the smoke settled, around 12 Redcoats had been shot, and seven of our militia had collapsed. I turned around, eyes flickering back and forth, searching for Mike. And I found him, though the friend in me wishes to this day that I hadn’t. He had collapsed on the ground, clutching his arm. Once he lifted his hand to inspect the damage, blood poured from the wound like a thick red waterfall. He grabbed it again, grimacing.

       “Oh gosh, Mike!” I exclaimed, feverishly grabbing bandages from my bag. “Here-ah, golly-let me… hold on,” I said, taking some, cutting them with my knife, and wrapping the wound. “Blasted lobster backs! They belong in the booby-hatch!”

       Michael gave a light chuckle in response. “We best get you somewhere safe,” I remarked, grabbing his uninjured arm and lifting it over my shoulder as I helped him get off the ground and walk to the side of the pathway. We made it just a moment before the Brits began their march on Concord again.

       “Attention!” shouted the huffy Redcoat in command of the raiding party; “March onwards!” They marched in formation, mindlessly stomping on any of our dying and wounded soldiers they passed over. If we had taken a moment longer to move out of the path, Mike would not have survived the battle.

       As the dirt settled down upon the land, Parker called us over. “We may have let them get away, but we won't let them arrive back,” he proclaimed to our troop. “We’ll gather here, hide, and once they come through once more to return to Boston, we fire.” And so, we prepared to attack the Lobsterbacks when they were most unprepared.

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       T’was only a mere five more hours 'till the Brits were stomping closer, but they seemed in a rush. It hadn’t been the self-satisfied return we’d expected; they weren’t carrying as many munitions as we thought they would. But they were running from our men! It was a laughable sight, one of the most feared armies in our corner of the world, cowering away from soldiers of their several colonies! But it would still do; they wouldn’t expect this, for they did not think such a small army could ever beat theirs. And so, as they ran through, we shot with loaded muskets and began to follow.

       The ground was soft with bright, bristly green grass below our boots, and the wind whooshed over our hats as we gave way to a chase; Mike stayed back to nurse his wound, along with our doctor. We ran through tall grass, trees, and rivers. It became repetitive, a constant rhythm: shoot, run, hide, reload, dodge, shoot, run, hide, reload. That was until a stray soldier with too much courage decided he would either win this battle or die trying. He stopped, turned, faced me, and began to jab at me with his bayonet. To fight back, I pulled out my knife from its hip-mounted sheath. It was now a battle to the death.

       It was a tense dance of death. He would slash at me, shoot, and dodge; I would block and fire back. It ceased when he took a moment to reload, stepping backward to protect himself from my pushing attack. I took the opportunity to prepare and stab him, hitting his bayonet with a clang. My knife bounced off the bayonet; I stabbed once more. This stab hit his arm, releasing a trickle of blood upon being dislodged. He dropped the musket and pulled out his dagger with the hand of the opposite arm. We then slashed at one another, trying to get the upper hand until a stray shot from a retreating Redcoat hit him in the neck.

       With a shocked expression on his grim complexion, he collapsed, gasping for air. I tightened my grip on the dagger, knowing what to do. It pained me to kill him, but that was what war was all about. Sacrifices had to occur.

       “Please,” he cried, then paused, taking a breath. “Don’t do it,” he rasped. “I have… a family,” he croaked, his sorrow making me tear up.

       “I’m sorry. Forgive me for this,” I whispered, plunging the dagger into his chest, then his head. I wanted to end his misery as fast as possible, for I could no longer bear to witness his suffering. Wanting to give him some respect, I checked his badge. It read, “Christopher.”  I wouldn’t forget him for his stubborn bravery. Alas, I moved on, wiping my dagger of his blood, pushing onwards to catch up with the Captain. We had nearly arrived in Boston.

       “Let them retreat! Hold your fire!” announced Parker to some confusion. Why should we stop now? Why shan’t we continue and kill them for trying to take our supplies for battle? These questions were uttered throughout the group, though it didn’t matter; Parker’s orders would not lay upon a disobedient ear. To be frank, we were tired; no soul wanted to continue fighting either way. And so, we began to cheer as the British cowered away from us into the safety of their cities.

       But someone didn’t want to stop, a soldier of our troop. His name was Joshua Williams, and he was stubborn as a mule; if he wanted something done, he would get it done. And now, he yearned for those British soldiers to be dead. That man could not stand to see them survive after what they had done to him and his family. He bravely stomped out of formation, following the Redcoats.

       “Williams! What are you doing?!” demanded Parker. “Stop!”

       The exclamation fell on ignorant ears; the man continued. Stomping and clashing his boots upon the ground, he fired his weapon into the group of Redcoats, and in return, the poor man got shot several times. First in the torso, leading him to collapse, upon which he took a bullet to the head. I could see the look of regret on his face, but it was too late. He closed his tired eyes and passed away. It was a sad sight to see.

       Alas, we won. We had finally won the battle. We had proved to our families and ourselves that maybe we weren’t so worthless. That day was a great day, a day for relaxation and celebration. But first, we would have to return home through the sad, war-tainted grass, tall trees filled with bullet holes, sinuous rivers, and still ponds. It was a depressing trip through the memories of the battle which had just occurred.

       What happened that day stuck to both armies’ reputations as a bee does to honey. The British loss boosted our morale and nearly quadrupled the size of our newly formed Continental Army. We and the British both learned valuable lessons of war that neither side would forget from then on.

-Caleb S. 

        I woke up to the sound of car alarms and people screaming for help. It was an unforgettable crash, yet the sky was blue as ever. 

       Thousands of blood splatters were on the walls and floor.  I don’t remember anything that happened. I had blood on my hands and legs.

       I took a deep breath and inhaled thousands of particles of debris. I attempted to get up, but my leg felt like it had been hit with 1,000 hammers. I knew it was broken for sure. All I remember is someone yelling, “PLANE!” And that was when my mind went blank.

       Suddenly I saw a little shine coming from the corner of my right eye. I used my hand to block the light, but it was too bright to block. I looked to my right and saw a partly crushed phone, but it was too far to reach. I reached my hand as far as I could, dragging my leg across the floor, leaving a streak of blood. I was a finger away from touching the phone.

       I heard heavy and loud prominent footsteps about 50 feet away from me. I layed down, closing my eyes halfway so I could still see, pretending I was dead. It was someone with a wound on his head and a piece of metal stabbed in his leg. He dragged his leg across the floor like I did, his hands around his leg, trying to keep the blood from flowing even harder. I got up, surprised it wasn't an intruder. He didn’t see me though. He just kept walking, probably trying to get help. 

       I was concerned and surprised that the authorities hadn't arrived yet. The stupid phone was too crushed to work, so I had to find another way out. I would never have expected I would be in the situation I was.  I felt scared and apprehensive, stuck in the North Tower with a broken leg, crying for help. 

       The sky turned from blue to gray within seconds. I tried to get some light into the room, but there was only this tiny little window at the top of the wall; it barely brought any light into the room. The way I was looking at the room made me think I was in jail.

       I dragged my leg to finally make it to the door frame. I used all the strength I had left to pick myself up. 

       There were beams everywhere and pieces of the ceiling. I could see light coming from the other room. I knew I had to get there somehow. I attempted to dodge all the obstacles. I put my leg over a beam, and that was when everything that I thought was painful seemed like nothing. I hit my wound on a hard piece of metal, which felt like a million needles poking my skin. I had to push through. My hands were wrapped around my leg, trying to make it to the room. A shiny small silver painted door knob was sitting right on the floor waiting for me to trip over it. I didn’t really watch out for anything; I just looked straight ahead, staring at my destination the entire way there. I kicked the doorknob out of my way, proud I didn’t trip over it.             

       I finally made it over to the magical and astonishing glowing room. The door was closed, and the light was glowing from the perimeter of the door. I needed to get in. I needed to get help.

       I pushed the door open with the measly amount of strength I had left; it barely opened. I used all my strength to pick up a fairly tall beam, one hand at the top and one hand in the middle of the beam. I ran straight into the door, wanting for it to pop open, but instead it bounced back at me, letting me fall straight onto the floor. I needed to get out of there.

       I could hear firemen and police outside and inside the building. I was surprised they hadn't checked floor 63 yet.  I pushed the door one more time and made it inside. There was a huge window, but there was way too much debris to even see anything. The movement of me opening the door made the ceiling start to crumble and fall.

       Huge chunks of the ceiling fell and blocked the door of the room I was in.  I started to cry for help. Nobody heard me. I fell to the ground, thinking, I will never get out of here. And that was when the loudest crash came from about 20 meters away from the North Tower.

       I put my ear to the wall that was surprisingly still intact after all of the fire and smoke from the plane. I heard someone yell, “The North Tower first and now the South Tower. Both the towers are gone!” That was when I realized the second tower was down. 

       Thousands of people were in the South Tower. Are people still stuck in there? Like me? Probably not. But maybe? I bombarded myself with questions.

       And then a police officer and a few firefighters were right outside the door, yelling to see if there was anyone else on the floor. One police officer pulled out his walkie talkie. “No one is left on floor 63 si..” he yelled into the walkie talkie.  

       No, I thought in my head. “HELP! I'm still here!” I hollered. But through the amount of debris and pieces of the thousands of beams, no one could hear me. I had to get out myself. 

       I picked up random heavy things and started throwing them at the door. If they can’t hear me they can maybe at least hear the banging, I thought. It didn’t work. I kept  throwing  things at the door,  hoping it would crumble. With the impact of my banging and the plane crash, I started to move a little; the door only had a few dents in it, but it didn’t look like it would fall down. 

       I sat down, my back facing the dented and dusty door, desperate to get to the other room. The door was on the verge of breaking. I hit it one last time, finally pushing it down.  I ran to the room I wanted to go to for the past hour. I felt so happy and relieved. I opened the huge window, waving my hand, yelling help simultaneously. A police officer saw me and told some other people about me. I could see about five people running back into the building. The same police officer who saw me started yelling at the people who scanned floor 63, saying, “You didn’t even scan floor 63. Is this why I gave you the job?” He was a bit harsh on them. 

       I saw thousands of people running in every which way, yelling and trying to find friends and family. They were coughing, crying and sad. I heard many different voices and footsteps coming closer and closer. 

       “Hello, anybody there?” a police officer asked loudly.

       “Hello?” I said back.

       “Hi, we are here to help.  Can you please describe what is blocking the door?” he responded.

       “Parts of the  ceiling and different sizes of  beams,” I responded in a shaky voice. 

       “Okay.” 

       They attempted to push the door with all their strength, but it wasn’t strong enough. The door moved a little but bounced right back to where it was before. I pulled one of the beams off the door to make it a little bit easier to push, which did the trick. There was only a space between the door and the door frame. It was about a foot long.  I Stuck my head out and my shoulders. I tried to wiggle out of the door, but it didn’t work. I pushed my hand out, using it to push my whole body out the door. I had to do it fast or the door would close on me. I pushed myself out successfully. I got up, limping to the end of the hallway. I walked down hundreds of flights of stairs.

       When I finally got out I was expecting to get a nice fresh breath of air, but instead I saw firefighters running around with a hose trying to put out fires and people running around trying to find their children. News reporters were all over the place, capturing everything they could, holding their mikes with pictures of sponsors and their company names. They were interviewing people and police about what happened. I was walking around clueless as ever. I looked like a walrus trying to find its mother in the Pacific Ocean. I didn’t know anyone. 

       Someone tapped me on the shoulder yelling, “Where are you!” Someone shouted and fell to the ground.  I walked away, thinking that woman was a maniac. 

       I saw many mothers talking to police officers attempting to find their children. I already saw someone putting up fliers for their missing daughter. I walked up to it and started reading. Brown hair, hazel eyes and is 5’1. They all described me.   Maybe there is someone else in the world with brown hair, hazel eyes and is 5 '1.  There was no picture on the flier, so could the person they were looking for be me?  No, that could never happen. But on the other hand I didn't remember anything about my life or my parents, so it could be me. 

       I realized I hadn’t seen my parents in a while. I didn’t even remember how they looked, so the poster could have actually been for me. 

       I walked around the sidewalk for about ten minutes waiting for all the news to sink in. Everyone was staring at me, pretending I was the elephant in the room. I was walking around New York, looking so lost. For the record, I was pretty lost. It felt like I'd been walking in circles for hours. All the buildings looked the same. Tall, short, tall, short, it looked like a three-year-old drew a city with crayons. I ran into the alley, hoping to find a wandering police officer. But instead I saw old rusty houses. I didn’t know New York had a rusty side. I always thought New York was the big city, the city of dreams, the big apple, whatever you want to call it. The main problem was I was a lost 13-year-old in the city of New York and had missing parents. Who knew if they were still alive or dead. The poster was the most confusing thing on my mind. 

       So am I looking for no one or are my parents still alive?  I don’t even remember how they look. Is the man who hung up the poster my dad? Is it me being described on the poster? I was going through one of the biggest dilemmas of my life. I didn’t know what to do. I just walked around until a police officer stopped me to make sure I was okay. I didn’t want to admit I was lost, but I had to. I needed to get somewhere safe. 

       I couldn’t be wandering around New York City all day.  “Hi Mister?” I said, looking down at his badge to figure out his name.

       “Mister Miller, I’ve been lost for hours and I don’t know where to go.”

       “Do you know where your parents are?” he asked.

       “No, I don’t remember anything,” I said in a fearful voice.

       “Okay, get in the car. I will take you somewhere safe,” he replied in a demanding voice.

       He’s a police officer, I thought. He won’t do anything to me. So I proceeded to get in the car. 

      “How long have you been out here?” he asked.

       “About four  hours,” I said.

       “Omg! I’ve been scanning this whole place for five hours,” he said in a surprised voice.

       “Oh,” I said with my head down, picking on my clothes. 

       “How did I not see you!” he yelled, mad at himself.

       “I don’t know,” I said in a soft and quiet voice. I don’t even think he heard me, I thought.

       He drove as fast as he could back to the crashed towers. How can he ever think I would be safe there?  I did not want to go back to that place ever again; I broke my leg there. This was where I realized my parents could possibly be looking for me. I never wanted to see that place or wanted to talk about that moment ever again, but here I am, telling you the story of how I died. 

       I hadn’t died yet.

       But this is the moment I did. 

       The car came to a sudden stop. I walked out, looking at the scene. My eyes glared open. The police officer just left me alone and walked to his boss. I started to walk closer and closer to the building. But that was when the huge top of the building couldn’t hold on; the rest and started to fall. I tuned out all the noises in a three-mile radius. I was staring at the building thinking about my life. And that was when the building fell on top of me. 

       My legs felt like they were made out of spaghetti. I fell to the ground, dead. About ten police officers came running up to the scene where it all happened. There was a huge poof of dirt and dust from the scene. The impact of me and the ceiling caused the huge poof. They started removing all the pieces of rocks. I was dead. For sure. There was no way anyone could save me from my death; I was gone forever. 

-Anvi G.

 Chapter 11

       Sweat running down my back, my heart was beating while I stepped slowly closer and closer to the gate of my demise.  I whispered, ¨Hey mom?¨

        ¨Yes, Sweetheart?¨ she answered.

       ¨Did you get a row just for us?” I asked.

       “No. You know how we are tight on money right now,” she responded. Still under all of the makeup she had put on, I could see the purplish tint under her eyes. I felt bad for my mother; time and time again she worked overtime, but she never got the money she deserved. 

       My mind zipped back to the thought that we were going to be seated next to a complete stranger. Now my hands started to shake. My heart started beating faster. My steps got uneasier to take the closer I got. 

       “Here we are!” my mother exclaimed. I was ready to jet back to our car, but I remembered we had taken the bus here. Now I was torn between sitting next to a stranger and my mom or leaving and taking the public bus by myself. I glimpsed at the person that was already seated. Her hair was in a high ponytail. Her outfit looked like it was from the 1980s. With its bright colors she was wearing, I thought I was going to go blind. 

       My mother had already relaxed in her seat with her magazines. I realized that I would have to sit at the end where everyone passed. “Aren’t you going to sit, Isabella?” my mom asked. I slowly slid in. Then a mountain of people strolled down the aisles. I tumbled down into the scratchy chair. The aroma of my mother's perfume was intoxicating; it started to dance around the plane happily, causing everyone to plug their noses.

       People were now settled in their seats. I could see clearly now around me without all those people. The cool, calming environment made it seem like there was no one on board. The smooth, curved ceiling above with the cubes hanging down. Right under it, the  rows of neatly laid seats. The chair that messed it all up, the scratchy stuff and the metal being ice cold. It was the second thing bothering me, the first being the smell.  

       “Honey?” my mother asked. 

       “What?” I whispered.

       “That young lady's name is Mary, and she is a dance teacher,” she reported. 

       She sounds like one of those teachers that is introducing a new student to the class. I wonder what type of food they have here? Ew, my mother’s perfume seems to get worse when I sniff it each time. I wish I could just teleport to my grandmother and not have to ride this flight, I thought.  

       “Aren’t you listening to me! As I was saying, aren't you interested in dancing?” she added. I blushed. I hadn’t told her, but she must have heard me when I was talking to my older sister. 

       I wish she could be here, but she is in college now, and she can’t miss this week at all. She said she had a big presentation or something tomorrow and needed to be there in person. She sounded really nervous when telling me it though. At first I thought she was lying, but she couldn't because she loved grandma’s cookies, and she told us she was going to make some for us, I thought. Now the flight attendants were announcing we were going to Los Angeles. I was breathing heavily. I decided to try to distract myself by looking at my watch, counting each second. 

       At 8:15 we were finally taking off. I continued to count the seconds on my watch, and slowly I drifted asleep. 

       I was awakened by shouting and people sprinting up the plane towards the cockpit. People started crying and screaming. 

       “Honey, we've been told that the North Tower has been hit by a plane!” my mother shouted. 

       I thought to myself, What did I hear the North Tower from? Then it hit me. That’s where mother got fired from; she spilled hot coffee on a person. The boss was also already fed up with her. But it was just an accident. That's why all this must be just an accident. 

       The stranger we had been sitting next to was looking around while tapping a number on her flip phone. My heart started pounding. My hands started shaking. I frantically looked at my watch; it was only 8:31. My mouth became dry as a desert. 

       Then I was ripped out of my seat like velcro. The guy wrapped his arm around my neck like a snake. Tears started dashing down my face. My mom right away tried pulling the man's arm off of me. I kept trying to gasp for air, but the air was not coming; it was running away from the man as well. Another man ran up behind my mother. I thought he was going to help me.With a blink of an eye the man pulled out a knife from his left pocket. I wanted to scream at her, to run, but when I did no voice came out. With one woosh…  

       I peered down to my mother's torso to see a knife sticking out. Blood ran down her leg. I didn't think about it for another second. I bit down on the man's arm trying to go to my mother. But as I did, the man just let go of my neck and grabbed my torso. With the other arm he put a cold blade on my neck; I froze and gazed at my mother. They shoved me to the front of the plane, and the man tore the blade out. My mother screamed. I looked at the blood pool out of her body and people ran over to her. Then they turned me around to a door.

        I was now stuck in front of the plane while the other man picked the lock. When the door opened they shouted at the pilot. I couldn´t understand a word they said; I was too worried about my mother. They repeated what they said to the pilot, but this time I got one word, kill. The pilot slowly stood up with his hands up over his head and was pushed to the back of the plane with the others. The man then removed the knife from my neck and held me by my arm. Then I was tossed to the floor like a rag doll. My head was spinning. I dragged myself into one of the rows, and there I found the stranger on the phone. 

       “I love you, Sweetheart. I have to say bye now. I love you so much,” Mary spoke into the phone. She broke down in tears. On the floor I found a piece of a mirror. I looked at my purplish neck, and it looked like he had tried to take my head off. I looked at the number seat we were in.

       “B3,” I whispered. The seat was D4, meaning I would have to go farther down. I couldn´t believe that the woman who was sitting next to us ran up to the B section, abandoning my mother. I tried to stand up, but to my surprise I found a piece of glass in my right ankle. I remembered that my health teacher told me not to remove an embedded object in the body, so I didn´t. Instead, I tried to use my arm to get up, but my left arm sent unbearable pain throughout my body. I took off my jacket to reveal my arm was swelling up. He almost broke my bone. I took my right arm and left leg and pushed up onto a seat. I slowly moved my way to the D section. When I got there I found our seat with my mother not there,  only a puddle of blood, with a trail of smeared blood to the back of the plane. When I got there I found my mother with two of the passengers. “Mom!” I cried. I limped over to her. 

       “Oh no. What did they do to you?”  she whispered.

       “I’m fine, Mom. You're the one that needs the help,” I told her. I used the rest of my strength to pull myself a little just to see them. There were four men in the front of the plane and a man in the middle of the plane.

        I looked at one of the other seats and found a man helping another passenger. “Hey, can you help us?!” I asked. The one man in the middle started to move his way to us. He stepped into my seat. A shiver ran down my spine. Then he showed his knife and walked back to the middle. 

       “Are you insane? You’re going to get killed,” the man whispered. It was the man that was helping the passenger. 

       “Are you a doctor?” I asked. 

       “Yes. Now let me see your arm!” he demanded. 

       “I don’t need help, she does,” I whispered while I pointed to my mom. I slid myself to the side. 

       “Okay, let me see,” he wipered. His eyes widened.  “You're right, she needs a lot of help, but you're next.” 

       “No, help her! I am fine; she needs more help than me,” my mother murmured. She sounded weaker than before. 

       “No, you need help,” he whispered. “I need your jacket,” the man demanded. I untwisted the jacket from my waist and handed it to him.  “I Am going to need you to put pressure on this.” I peeked over the man's back, seeing mother holding my jacket on her side. The pink fabric of the jacket slowly turned red. I glazed at the people hiding in the other side of the row. Fear was all I saw in their eyes. They looked like five ghosts held in a corner.

        I viewed the plane again, but instead of its calming look, it was now an apocalypse. There were seats ripped, and the ceiling had scratches on it; the cubes that were hanging were now open with clothes ripped out. The floor was decorated with blood and people’s belongings. I peeked over the man’s back.  seeing my mom there, she looked at me, crying. Then the man whooshed around.

       “It’s your turn,” he whispered.

       “No, she’s not done; she’s still losing blood,” I whispered.

       “That's the best I could do,” the man muttered. I was now sobbing. I now knew that I was going to die unless we landed. The man guarded my foot and took my shoe; he cut off my sock. My attention was caught by seeing my sock; its soft white cloth was now bright red. I didn’t even realize that the glass was ripped out by something. I glimpsed down the aisle. One seat down the same piece of glass was sticking out of a seat. 

       “Can I please look out the window?” I asked. 

       “Okay?” he answered. I crawled over to the window.

       “Mom?” I whispered. I waited a minute, but she didn’t answer. I whipped around. I froze like a statue covered out of fear. The man was pounding on her chest. My mom sat lifeless on the ground. “MOM!” I screamed like an alarm clock. The man stopped pounding, my jaw shaking. The man slowly pressed down on the floor and moved it back and forth. I couldn’t take it. 

       I jetted up to the hijackers, and I tore the piece of glass out of the seat; one of them was blocking the door.  It was the same one that had killed my mother. He held up his knife at my neck. With no thought, I ran and stabbed the piece of glass into the side of his neck. 

       Blood ran down his neck, then all the way to the floor. I twisted it out of his neck, and with a clunk,  he fell to the floor. I stepped over his body into the cockpit. My eyes wouldn’t work; they were filled with rage. I stared out the window, seeing where my mother used to work.  One of the towers in New York. The closer and closer we got, smoke filled the air. 

        What have I done? Mom wouldn’t want this? My mom wouldn’t have any problems if it wasn’t for me. I’m the problem, I thought. Tears ran down my face. Two seconds went by,  and we went head first into the tower. 

        Everything went black. My soul slowly left my body. I drifted asleep, but this time I wasn't waking up, not even to yelling.

-Amelia K.