This is my tribute to all of those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. It's not long, and it's nothing special, but 9/11 was a day that changed America and Americans alike. Please hold those who died in your hearts today, tomorrow and always.
The crowd was silent, their eyes closed and their hearts ripped to pieces. Not because they wouldn't say something, but because they couldn't. Their voices had been silenced by shock. The greatest fighters, the most feared villains, and the most praised heroes, had been brought to tears by the television mounted on the wall, which showed two buildings coughing out thick, black smoke.
It was terrible, like a car crash. You couldn't, even for a second look away, no matter how much you wanted to. Not even when the bodies began to mix with the debris. Not even when the beloved buildings went crumbling to the ground. Not even when it was over.
After Snake had finally turned the television off early the next morning, the smasher's eyes were still glued to the screen. Some sat with their friends, but some with their mortal enemies. They were all one person that night, with just one thought.
"Who could have done this?"
Pit said it first. The angel was crammed up against the back wall between Samus still in her power suit and Ganondorf. His look of innocence was replaced by complete disgust and disbelief. Everyone just looked at him, because no one had an answer for him.
Even though most of them had seen war and taken part in one, no one could have imagined anyone doing something like this. It seemed like a bad dream, and they were going to wake up and see that none of it had happened, and it was just another Tuesday in September. But this was a false hope, and shocked silence enveloped them once again.
"Terrorists," Ike finally answered in his blunt manner. He looked like he was going to be sick when he got up and left the room. Everyone stared after him. No one followed immediately, but one by one, they dispersed back to their rooms. They all tried to sleep, but only a few were not roused by nightmares. The younger smashers especially had a rough night. They were all haunted by the images they saw on the television. Them and everyone else who had seen the disaster.
For the next few weeks, the fights were shorter, the hits lighter, and the competiveness lowered. No one seemed to be into the violence anymore. The fans didn't seem to complain. They were somber as well. But, eventually, they moved on, as did the rest of the people affected by that day in some way shape or form. But they would never be the same.
Now, ten years later, all of those same smashers stand together. They all came from different worlds, with different backgrounds and have different views. But here they stand in a line before a tournament, on a Sunday morning. And every one of them was waving an American flag.
The smashers never forgot the true heroes of September 11, 2001. Their sacrifices live on in their hearts. As they do in the hearts of Americans. As they do in mine.
R.I.P. all of the innocent people in the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and all those of flight 93 that lost their lives on 9/11.
"God bless America, my home sweet home."
