All We Are Is Bullets// g.w. a.u. (✔)

Romance

Sept. 11, 2001

8:29 a.m.

I pulled out my sketchbook and a sharpened pencil. I usually get bored on the way to work so I decided to start drawing. I looked around the train car to find someone or something to draw. I was sitting diagonally from a girl around my age with black hair. She had on faded skinny jeans, ripped at the knees, a black Blink-182 tee, and a Walkman in her left hand, her right foot tapping along to whatever song she was listening to. She was in front of me so I couldn't see her face. I watched as her pale fingers pressed a couple of buttons on the light gray rectangle that was connected to her black earbuds.

I started sketching her without realizing it. I started with her hair, as that was the first thing I noticed about her. I then moved onto the rest of the picture that was before me.

I was a pretty fast drawer, so I was not that impressed when I looked at my watch and saw it said 8:46 a.m. I looked at the girl for any last minute details I need to add. I noticed she was looking out the window towards New York. That's when I heard someone scream, followed by a loud crashing sound. I looked to where a man was pointing. There was a lot of black smoke coming from the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

No one was saying anything. The train stopped on the tracks. I looked back at the girl. I couldn't see her face but I could tell she was as shocked as everyone else.

I didn't know her but I wanted to go over to her. I wanted to say, "You're not in this alone."

They sent everyone back home that morning. I got home at 9: 18 a.m. and was smothered with affection by my parents. I turned on the TV and saw that the other tower had been hit at 9:03.

I couldn't stop thinking about that girl. Was she okay? Where is she?

I was going to find her. I don't care how long it takes. I'm going to find her.