12 August 2012
He could taste the blood in his mouth, and he knew that he was hurt. He could not feel below his waist, as he choked on the dust and dirt.
He'd been sitting in his office, he'd been talking on the phone. Now he lay broken, surrounded by rubble, the cause of which unknown.
He'd not kissed her goodbye that morning, for they'd rowed the night before. Her eyes still red from crying, as he walked out and slammed the door.
Now he lay there dying, deep regret overshadowing pain. As the ceiling fell, his final yell, was calling out her name.
9/11 • Opuss № I