Starlight
A dedicated 9/11 short story.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
I don't like it when Frog Face gets all sappy, especially towards me. He'll have a pained look in his eyes and a sorrowful smile accompanying it. It doesn't suit the flirtatious Frenchmen in the slightest, and it defiantly doesn't suit the hate relationship we have built up over the years. I guess we have all changed as a result of this.
"Of course I can." I scoff, like this is just a simple trip.
In actuality, I'm not.
The bus we are currently on comes to a screeching halt, and the bus driver squawks into the speakers the reason for their stop. Giving a farewell nod to me, France gets off, leaving his solemn atmosphere behind. It incases me, making me grow dreary with the very thought of this. I hear my heart thumping, thumping harder than when the doors come to a close. I absentmindedly start fiddling with the ring on my finger in an attempt at a distraction, but it only sparks a memory as a result.
"Hey dude!" America greets me, a huge smile plastered on his face per usual. I wonder if he had just finished off a McDonald's value meal and that's what put him in a good mood.
"Hello." I reply curly, hiding a smile that I reserve for him only.
"Come here. I wanna show you something." He locks his hands with mine; unfazed by the looks we are receiving from passersby, and pulls me towards his favored destination.
This is one of the few times I am willing to traverse New York City at night. America had pleaded with me the day before, promising me over and over again that I would be safe around him. That is the only reason I decided to follow him on his little mission he had planned. Gaining access to the building with ease, we hop in the elevator and ride all the way to the top. Our eyes do not do this justice. From the ground, I couldn't even see the top, and I assumed it was much shorter than it appeared to be. But now riding in the elevator, taking an eternity to slowly crank its way to the top, it is still hard to fathom its height.
The moment I step out from the elevator, I am stunned.
Starlight's reflect into the room, making it sparkle like the night sky outside. Our little piece of the sky is simply trapped within the top floor of this infamous building. I could hardly see the towers twin because its windows act like mirrors and repel the image of the night sky. The stars are literally everywhere, like the little pixies and fairies I occasionally catch a glimpse of. It is so magically, so beautiful. Never could this moment be replicated, where it feels like I'm living in the very night sky. I am so entranced that it doesn't register that Alfred has gotten down on one knee.
"Hey… Arthur…" My human name drawls my attention easily.
Presenting a ring to me, his smile only widens as he says, with the stars as our witnesses, the next few words, "Will you marry me?"
Of course I say yes, but it comes out in a jumbled, blubbering mess. He laughs and embraces me, slipping the ring on when I feel the tears start to fall. I am so happy when I am with America. Even though we are countries, I love him so much.
I snap my head against the window, killing the memory mid-stream. I do not want to relive that day. I became so very bitter inside, so happy memories only spur the bad ones from their hiding. This is how I am dealing from the aftermath. I'm sure other countries have their methods, but bloody hell, what else am I supposed to do? France has been exceedingly kind, so he must have noticed. Of course he did. The bloody frog hugged me the moment he saw me, and I know he felt the gaunt stretch of bone through my jacket. It was very hard to miss the slight falter in his movements.
I only want to be alone for a while. Not to cope, but to grieve in defiantly.
The bus driver's ramble echoes throughout the bus. This happens to be my stop.
I get off promptly, setting at a brisk pace of weaving in and out of the New Yorkers. Some of them cast glances in my way, but shrug it off and continue on their way. I don't want to be disturbed anyway. I need to see this.
My feet find their way through an unfamiliar garden, with erect trees swaying in the September wind. I don't pause to take a break on a lovely looking bench. I am so jittery; I don't think I could sit down for a second. Am I really ready for this? Am I prepared to confront this? I pause ever so slightly when I step onto the raised platform, overlooking two parallel indentions in the ground.
The memorial of 9/11.
I scan the words slowly of each dead victim. I'm not in a hurry, just idly making it look like I am catching a glimpse of the memorial. There are a few people I knew, I will admit, although their faces are nothing but distant memories. I still can't comprehend the audacity of this. It was such a terrible, terrible day. I happened to be cooking up a recipe when the phone began to ring. I received the news that left my knees weak and my heart dead. It shocked me so deep into remission that I have yet to even attempt escaping from it.
I pause, staring at a name in particular.
That familiar feeling returns in full force.
Bile rises bitterly in my throat and tears sting my eyes. My knees no longer support my thinning weight, and therefore collapse. Right then and there, I come undone, unraveling into a heaping mess of hot tears and pitiful whimpers.
The name is Alfred F. Jones.
A victim in the twin towers collapse.
There is nothing remaining of the beautiful starlight room. It died alongside my husband, with my heart following in suit.
IN MEMORY OF 9/11! PLEASE GIVE A SILENT PRAYER TO THOSE WHO HAVE DIED, AND THOSE WHO LIVE ON!
-Soul Spirit-