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.