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The Eleventh Storm

It is rare for me to write a literary piece about anything in life, but, as a moving tribute to the September 11th attacks a decade later, I look back at what happened through the decade through prose.

On one fine September day in 2001, when people have gone to work and play, a sudden glow of light shone through New York’s skyline. Many thought it was a surprise to see the light shine from high above the 80th floor, but it turned into a scare as crowds of people move away from the burning inferno. As time went by, more citizens ran away from the orange light turning dark grey as smoke billows through the streets of Manhattan. And when the buildings finally gave way, one thing was for sure: the city was attacked. Many did not know who was responsible for burning down the two towers, nor had any idea why a few men did it to them. 

New York was not alone in this attack: Washington, Shanksville, the whole country. It was an attack of multitudes. It was a story of merciless murders. It was September 11th, 2001, the day the United States got the eleventh storm. Leaders knew that well-oiled platoons of armed men were responsible for the thousands of deaths that day, but it turned out to be moving targets, from Iraq to Afghanistan, Iran to Pakistan. A manhunt of extraordinary feats, it was quite a sight to see more lights shining through the years, with thousands of lives sacrificed to secure America and its allies. Yet, the light grew dim as the platoon lost its head in May, making it a victorious day against them. But, the scars and wounds of that fateful day still remain: one can recover a lost object, yet one cannot recover a lost human life.

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