The eyes of 9/11/01

Dawson Capozzoli

I pulled up to the World Trade Center. I carefully pulled my briefcase out of the car and brought it to my side. Then, I walked up to the entrance.
When I reached the elevator, I pressed the up button and stepped in. I pressed the number 95. The elevator soared upward. When I reached floor 95, I walked until I came across my work cube. A bright green sticky note was plastered on my Dell computer. Meet me in my office at 8:45. - Mr. Briskly, Is what it read. I unlatched the hook on my briefcase and took out my notepad and pencil. Then, I walked towards Mr. Briskly's office. The first thing I saw was the desk, the cane, and the face, showing no sign of interest all over it. Mr. Briskly. "Mr. Capozzoli, please have a seat," The deep voice ushered. I sat down. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Briskly?" I asked very slowly. "Mr. Capozzoli, as you know..." He started. I glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. 8:46am. I focused my attention back on Mr. Briskly. "You have been with us for six years, working really hard. But..." My heart started to pump faster. "Well, we. .." Mr. Briskly's thought was stopped short by a deafening noise. Followed by shattered glass headed right towards my head. With no time to process what was going on, I threw myself on the ground, covering my head. OH MY GOSH. CRASH!!! Shearing pain gushed down my back. I wasn't on the ground for long. My body flew across the room and slapped into Mr. Briskly's wall. I didn't care what was happening, I just had to stay alive. "Help! Help! Somebody help me!" A crackled voice literally screamed. Only one person could sound like that. Mr. Briskly.
Mr. Briskly was lying on the ground with his cane feet away. I knew I needed to get him out. "Mr. Briskly. Stay down! I'm coming!" I yelped. But I knew that he probably couldn't hear me over the chaos. I inched my way over to him, but my back pain slowed me down. Finally, I reached Mr. Briskly. I helped him up, screaming in pain in the process. I steered us to the door. I had know idea where I was going, I just knew that I had to get out. It didn't help that Mr. Briskly was just about handicapped, being old and all, but I kept a strong face for my boss. Even though I had a feeling that there would be many surgeries in my future.
We had to hurry. I really didn't want to know what was happening to the World Trade Center. Not yet anyways.
People were screaming nonstop. Friends that felt like family were dying in the flesh of whatever crashed into our work. When Mr. Briskly and I made it to the stairs which would lead out, many people started pushing and shoving so that they could get out. Our journey down 94 floors started... Now.
Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap. That phrase rang in and out of my mind many, many times. I was trying to think of where my last breath would be, and I didn't think it would be at work.
Everyone was constantly screaming and coughing and I had no idea what to do. One floor down, ninety three to go, I thought. Paramedics ran in and out of the building, carrying people on stretchers. Mr. Briskly and I just kept moving, even though I knew that the chances of us making it out of here alive were not very big. I put one foot in front of the other. And helped Mr. Briskly along the way. Then, the thought occurred to me. Bethany wouldn't have a husband to be if I didn't make it out of here alive. After all of this preparation for our big day it would have to be canceled. Our new life would be canceled.