It was my first sick day of my second year at my school, Archbishop Rummel High. I had not made many friends there, none in fact. I was not An outgoing person. I was quiet and always had a book in my hands. It is true what they say, if books are your friends you are never lonely. For the first decade of my life and a couple years after, books were my friends, they were my source to things outside myself. I learned of society and its customs not through interaction with it or its populous but through journeys through my beloved books. That is probably why I was so clumsy for I had knowledge of how to greet a Janitor or President. I had knowledge of how to behave, among underlings, peers, and the Greats. Yet I had no experience with even the smallest of society's rituals. The books gave me knowledge and yet held me back. Even know, that I have gained experience in Society, sometimes I look at my old friends with hatred, and sometimes with great tenderness. They were my solice in my need and the creator's of that need.
On that faithful day, I held one of my old friends in my hands. The Count of Monte Cristo. My night had been spent in reading of bitter love, sweet passion, and unsatisfactory vengeance. My affliction did not allow me to sleep much. So in the early morning hours I had turned on my television and had gone between reading my book and watching the news. Finally as my eyes began to droop, I closed my book and lay down on the couch, preparing for mindless hours in front of the television. I had never spent a less mindless day.
On 8:46 A.M. I watched the screen fill up from blue and grey to red and black. The clear sky and definite outline of the North Tower was transformed to the ever changing billows of smoke and the constant leaping flames that made me think that the gates of hell had opened inside the tower. The 747 seemed to be one of the 4 hoursemen or atleast a tool of Satan. The instant the plane hit the tower, I knew the world had changed, forever. There was no going back, no action could account, no excuse would suffice. Satan had made his biggest deception ever and I had sat there and let it happen. A single tear leaked down my face, though I doubt it was destinguashable from the fever sweat that covered my face. Thoughts, impulses, even instincts ran through my head. Modern history flashed before rather then my life because I knew my country to be great and unable to consume any of its citazens in hate but I also knew that the catyayst of its fall or social revolution was at hand. Even as those thoughts flashed through my mind for about a quarter of an hour the second crash made the ground under me drop away. Just as the first crash made my mind race at the speed of light, the second brought me to absolute zero and only one question drifted across the void. What next?