I found this story on a piece of paper under my bed a while ago. It is about the way I saw 9/11. I don’t believe I wrote it while I was six but rather a few years later. I’d date this around ages nine or ten. I typed it up as is, please excuse the grammar and incomplete sentences.
War to a child
Sitting inocently, playing with her sister, her Mother rushes to Tv. People on the screen talking frantically. Billows of smoke.
What Is Going ON!
Mother explains two very tall buildings have been hit by airplanes. Olders sister seems to understand. Everyone is so gloomy. It’s rather confusing and consuming. A family that rarely watches TV has the news on. The only thing that makes any sense is that there is a pattern to the news. They repeat the same clip every fifteen. In between are reports of more terrorist destruction. Everthying is touched; even her birthday, the on month anniversary. The airplanes flying by seem rather frightful. The years pass, the war does not. It is continual. It slowly slips from the child’s mind only to suddenly be brought back with a new “terror” report.
Will it end before her childhood is over?
I wrote this so long ago and yet the question is still valid. Will it ever be over? My childhood is quite gone. Yet the war and terror remains. Is this a passing phase or new era?