There Is Only One Story
Natalie Hillage
Creative Writing
Mrs. Ruiu
11 Sept 2014 There Is Only One Story
September 11, 2001. I was a three year old preschool student. The kid who sat next to me stuck crayons in his nose and the girl in my play group always made me be the dog when we played house. That day was part of many that began my life. The same exact day that ended the lives of thousands of people and ruined those of others. The same exact day that a widow now calls into work and lays in bed for hours; because if not for this day thirteen years ago she would still roll over and find next to her a man that she had built her life with, a man she loved and cherished with every fiber of her soul. A mother now takes the long way home so she doesn’t have to drive by her son’s old apartment anymore. Her biggest regret is pushing him to move out and pursue an adult life. If not for that, her baby wouldn’t have become a volunteer fireman on the side of his college career after moving out. She would give anything to be able to yell at him for playing too many video games and leaving the toilet seat up, just one more time. What about the children who send balloons to heaven on Mother’s and Father’s Day? The fact that Osama Bin Laden is dead will never change the countless men and women who went into a building and ran up stairwells as that same building fell on top of them. Prejudices against Muslims and Middle Eastern natives will never heal the parents who put flowers on their child’s grave every year for his birthday. Making misery out of tragedy will not mend the brokenhearted. Each human who witnessed, experienced, or became victim to September 11, 2001, has their own story, their own way of mourning. But, why do we mourn? Why do we fly our flag especially high on this day? Because our country was struck by a conflict we thought was unbearable. And although we will never be the same, I think we will be okay. With that, I believe our country focuses too much on finding the answers
Creative Writing
Mrs. Ruiu
11 Sept 2014 There Is Only One Story
September 11, 2001. I was a three year old preschool student. The kid who sat next to me stuck crayons in his nose and the girl in my play group always made me be the dog when we played house. That day was part of many that began my life. The same exact day that ended the lives of thousands of people and ruined those of others. The same exact day that a widow now calls into work and lays in bed for hours; because if not for this day thirteen years ago she would still roll over and find next to her a man that she had built her life with, a man she loved and cherished with every fiber of her soul. A mother now takes the long way home so she doesn’t have to drive by her son’s old apartment anymore. Her biggest regret is pushing him to move out and pursue an adult life. If not for that, her baby wouldn’t have become a volunteer fireman on the side of his college career after moving out. She would give anything to be able to yell at him for playing too many video games and leaving the toilet seat up, just one more time. What about the children who send balloons to heaven on Mother’s and Father’s Day? The fact that Osama Bin Laden is dead will never change the countless men and women who went into a building and ran up stairwells as that same building fell on top of them. Prejudices against Muslims and Middle Eastern natives will never heal the parents who put flowers on their child’s grave every year for his birthday. Making misery out of tragedy will not mend the brokenhearted. Each human who witnessed, experienced, or became victim to September 11, 2001, has their own story, their own way of mourning. But, why do we mourn? Why do we fly our flag especially high on this day? Because our country was struck by a conflict we thought was unbearable. And although we will never be the same, I think we will be okay. With that, I believe our country focuses too much on finding the answers