Personal Narrative Essay: Remembering 9/11
Many repressed memories tend to be good, joyful, and positive. However, some lean in the negative direction. These memories are ones you want to really forget, and never bring up again. The memory I remember most happened when I was 11 years old, in fifth grade.
I was sitting in the classroom when the principal came on the intercom, announcing that the bells would be delayed, and those not staying after school to go to the cafeteria. So several classmates and I started headed to the lunchroom. As we walked in, teachers with panicky and terrified faces frantically directed us to the tables. People were whispering, crying, and yelling and screaming. I sat down at one of the long, smooth, freezing brown tables, waiting anxiously to hear what was happening. I looked around and saw ugly white walls and tons of people. As more students poured in the vast cafeteria, teachers and administrators were walking hurriedly around, with horrified faces, and tear marks streaming down their faces. I, as many others, looked puzzled, student to student, wondering what in the world was going on. It felt like an eternity had passed, but as I kept glancing up at the clock, I realized it had only been about 10 minutes from when we first arrived at the huge tables. The principle finally went up to the stage and through her tears, she managed to inform us that hijackers had taken over planes and crashed them into the Twin Towers in New York City. A blanket of silence filled the room; you could hear a pin drop. Everyone’s blank and confused stares twisted into a scared and terrified look, as if they had just seen a ghost appear out of nowhere. Mrs. Johnston, the principal, told us that we need not to worry too much, New York is many, many miles away. Nobody moved a muscle. The only thing happening in the room was looks of horror and shock. A couple moments of silence passed when finally Mrs. Johnston turned on the...
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