Date Submitted: 7/10/2017
I was teaching Spanish on Sept. 9, 2011. My Spanish I class had just walked in at 8CST. A student told me that a plane had just crashed into Tower !. Of course, I thought it was some pilot in distress and hoped for the best. As we turned on the TV, another plane hit the South Tower. We were in shock. I knew right then and there that this was no accident. Even though we went through our day's agenda, afterwards, we turned the TV on and just watched. In the teacher workroom not half an hour later, we were all stone-faced and doing our work quietly. I don't know why we didn't talked or even dared to look at each other. It was too vast to comprehend. Eventually, I made contact with my eldest, a sophomore at UT Austin. He was on his way home on the to his apartment on the shuttle after classes were canceled. Then I talked. I talked and talked and talked and am still doing it today and always. It was hard -- especially Flight 93.
I stood there feeling bad about whoever was in the plane or helicopter, but not feeling anything ominous... THEN... I see it... It was almost like slow motion but it was moving so fast... So low... You didnít have time to gasp... It hit the second tower and disappeared, and suddenly the biggest fireball I have ever seen in my life just shoots wide and high into an ocean blue sky... Whoever wasnít stunned on the train suddenly screamed as everyone ran to the windows...
Brian (story excerpt)