I was 9 years old and in the 4th grade. Our French teacher, Mr. Rioux was teaching us about verbs when our principal came on the intercom to have us all say a prayer for those at the World Trade Center in New York and the Pentagon in Washington, DC. That was all we heard. We had a fire drill next. It was a chilly day right before fall.
After school, my grandmother picked me up, and she was listening to the radio and crying. I still didn't know what had happened to our country. "Some planes flew into the World Trade Center in New York." Still not understanding, I turned on the TV in our kitchen and finally witnessed the attack. The towers in New York were burning, and Dan Rather told us, "America is under attack; the skyline in New York City will be forever changed."
Those who die innocent deaths never really die. They are everywhere; we just don't see them in quite the same way. And the culmination of what they were and what their death meant is as prevalent and tangible as the warmth in your soul and the sorrow in your heart.
Imran (story excerpt)