2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TW: 9/11, Gore
September 11, 2001
Ever since the second plane hit the south tower and she lost communication with her parents, Yael wandered in a daze, drifting in a sea of madness. At first, she clung to the belief they were alive and moments from being rescued, but as more time passed, the idea faded. Hundreds of firefighters entered the towers in a constant stream, and she prayed they would find a miracle path past the destroyed floors.
Another chunk of flaming debris crashed to the ground, sending a burst of sparks into the air, and she flinched, her pulse skipping. A deadly shower of building, plane, and luggage fell from above, along with other things. Horrible things. Body parts—a hand, a torso. And among them, thousands of papers. They danced in the breeze, graceful and misplaced with the rest of the horror. She heard sirens in the background and screams punctuating the air, but the roar of the fires assaulted her ears. Chaos reigned, and, in the midst of it, she stood, unmoving, unable to grasp her rampant thoughts. Only a single notion made any sense—that this was an illusion, a trick, a nightmare she must wake up from.
An explosion snapped her from her stupor and chased her behind a wooden bench, the same one she'd perched on earlier while waiting for her parents. She stuck her head out, peering around frantically. Distracted for half a second, she felt warm liquid running down her leg. Expecting blood, she saw a growing wet spot on the front of her capris instead. She'd peed herself, but the humiliation vanished, unnecessary.
The expressions on nearby faces echoed her shock and fright, the indecision over whether to run or stay put, the battle over which was safer. Yael's terror vibrated through every cell in her body. The loud bang happened again. Bombs. Oh, God. Bombs! Another explosion to her left. Then on her right. The booms were sporadic, without any pattern or rhythm. She cringed each time, trying to get away, to keep herself alive as she clawed her way up the sidewalk, cutting the palms of her hands on broken glass.
Then she realized they weren't bombs.
They were bodies.
People were falling from the sky.
She glanced up and shook her head, trying to clear away the sight. They weren't falling. No, they were jumping from the floors above the gaping holes in the building, sailing gracefully from windows to escape the raging flames and breaking glass. To get out of the unimaginable. The unthinkable.
One struck directly in front of her, shaking the ground at her feet and showering her with a bloody spray. Her stomach lurched as she scrambled backward, but her breakfast was already in her throat. She turned, determined to flee, but everywhere she looked, there were the same indistinguishable puddles of what was once people. Puddles that might have been her parents. Bending over, she threw up, retching until there was nothing left.
"You need to clear this area, now!" A cop rushed by, yelling at others like her, bystanders lost in a daze. "We have reports of people being hit by debris on the other side. Stand back!"
