Blowed up!

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NEW PROMPT:
Write a STORY or POEM about someone being directly affected by the events of September 11, 2001, (when hijacked planes struck the World Trade Center in NYC, the Pentagon in Washington DC, and one crashed in a field in Pennsylvania). Maybe they lost a loved one on one of the planes or in one of the buildings, maybe they lived in NYC or DC and witnessed it happen, maybe they were a rescue worker, or maybe they were traumatized by the tragedy in some other way. They can be a resident of the US, or another country.
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There is a local morning television news anchor who loves the segment he calls “Blowed up!” He would sometimes end his show with noisy clips of a hotel or some other building or even a grain silo being blown up in the name of progress.

I also got a kick out of that segment until that morning of September 11, 2001. Nobody I knew died that day. I was nowhere near any of the three sites in Pennsylvania, New York, or Washington, D.C. In fact, up until that day I rarely watched anything other than the San Francisco morning news. Nothing, not even the Vietnam War, penetrated my years of apathy about the world around me.

Yet, when I turned on my television that morning, I came out of my fog and was jolted into the real world. With my morning coffee growing cold next to me, I watched a small plane coming out of the distance on a beautiful New York day. On the same television screen, one of two tall buildings showed a column of smoke rising obscenely into the sky. The news commentator was telling us a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. At that time, not much was known about what was being thought of as a terrible accident.

While the newsman kept talking, the TV screen remained on the plane coming closer to those two buildings. I suddenly watched flames cremate hundreds of people in seconds, right in front of me and millions of horrified people around the world. Thankfully I turned on my television too late to see people jumping from the first burning building many stories down to their death.

The news channels soon switched to where a third plane had flown into the side of the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Back again raced the cameras to New York as first one then the second WTC building slowly became a multi-layer concrete pancake. Clouds of dust and smoke rose like a gray umbrella while simultaneously snaking down the New York City streets. Underneath that impenetrable death trap, thousands of innocent people became victims of this most brutal of terrorist attacks.

All day, I remained near my television learning of the end of lives in a Pennsylvania field, New York City skyscrapers, and a government building in Washington, D.C. That wasn’t the only death that happened that long, terrible day. The innocence of so many Americans, myself included, died that day. Never again would we take our nation’s security for granted.

Even seven years after September 11, 2001, our land and air borders still leak like a sieve, practically inviting more terrorists to “come on in.” Ports of entry for ships have scant security, and only a small percentage of cargo is checked for dangerous contraband. Following up on the temporary visas of foreigners is a joke. Instead of working to make America’s citizens safe against another terrorist attack, government agencies have meetings. They publish papers outlining how to improve safety and security, and then simply have another meeting without doing anything constructive.

This year, Americans have a chance to change how our elected officials protect us. I, for one, do not want to see another building filled with people “blowed up” because we sat on our thumbs and did nothing. Before the eighth anniversary of the September 11 attack comes around, let’s see if we angry and disgusted U.S.A. citizens can vote in more responsible people.

Since that day, I’ve become a news junkie. Even before I get out of bed in the morning, I turn on the national news to make sure our beautiful world is still alive and kicking. The fear, which lies not so deep inside me, is that some morning I’ll turn on the TV set, and all I’ll get is ominous static. Somewhere, large cities that broadcast the news are gone, "blowed up" while I slept.

Until then, I’m making sure my emergency kit is fully stocked, and NOT with duct tape.

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Microsoft Word count = 666 (Not a coincidence)

"The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week!"  daily entry for 09/11/08
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