Now, to clear some things up before we begin:

These are meant to be like entries into a journal, by each city, showing their thoughts on some of the worst events to occur in their history. I'm not writing this to offend anyone so, please, don't flame. Now, there won't be a lot of dialogue, seeing as this is meant only for their thoughts and saying how things affected them.

Now, if you don't like the general idea of this story, or find it offensive, please stop reading now. Don't flame or put up hate-reviews on this work.

Now, to those who actually clicked on this because they want to read it, Enjoy~!

I don't own anything besides my OCs...and even Tokyo doesn't belong to me. I'm borrowing her from a friend (with permission, of course!).

Date: September 11th, 2011

To whom it may concern,

So, all of my friends recommended doing this, to help with the healing process. I should introduce myself...I'm New York City, also known to most people as Quinn Catherine Jones. I'm currently sitting in my bedroom, for the first time in ten years. They just recently allowed me to move back into an apartment, and even now they won't let me go anywhere without someone. London and Paris have to move in with me, to keep an eye on me. I feel so sorry, having to keep them here just on my behalf. I can take care of myself...Well, at least, I think I can.

There are a lot of things I'm not sure of anymore. After that day, things have just been fuzzy for me. Some days are okay, I guess. Then, there are others where I can barely remember my name. I guess I should start from the beginning...

It was a normal day. I mean, I woke up, brushed my teeth, called up my friends, and all of us met at Central Park. My Dad was holding a party that night at his house and most of the countries had shown up, so they also brought along their kids, also known as the other cities. There was pretty much the normal crew: Madrid, London, Paris, and Kaliningrad (or, as he insisted on being called, Königsberg, or just Fritz), Tokyo, and my baby sis Pearl Harbor. I'd had to separate five fights between the two of them just that morning. Little Pearl Harbor has to start fights every single time her and Tokyo or Japan meet, and she's the size of a nine year old!

...We're still trying to figure out how she wins 90% of the time.

Anyway, we were all in Central Park. London and Paris were sitting in a nice shaded area, chatting idly, Kaliningrad and I were having a little race on our skateboards, Tokyo was curled under a tree, munching on some pocky and playing a portable video game, and Pearl was letting Madrid braid her hair. It was just a normal morning, as I said. But then, things started to go wrong.

Just as I was about to beat Kaliningrad, pain flared up in my temple. It wasn't just normal pain though. No, it was like someone had driven a knife into my head and was twisting it. And it burned, too. Oh god, it felt like the skin of my temple was on fire, and alcohol was poured onto it. Immediately, I fell to the ground. Everyone rushed over, asking if I was okay. Then, they noticed the pool of blood around my head. Tokyo immediately pulled out her phone and called the countries, London called 911, and Pearl, Fritz, Paris and Madrid worked on stopping the blood flow with towels they had packed in their bags. Nothing seemed to help. It felt as if someone kept pulling the knife out and shoving it back in.

I don't know how long I was lying there, maybe fifteen minutes, even though it felt like an eternity. The first people to arrive weren't the paramedics, but my Dad and Uncle England.

The moment they got to the scene, Uncle England gasped and Daddy dropped to his knees, holding the towel tighter against my head.

"What's going on? What happened?" Pearl Harbor demanded, her voice displaying she was obviously about to cry. When she spoke, it sounded far away, like she was yelling from the top of a hill a football field away. It was also fuzzy...Everything was fuzzy.

"A plane has struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center," Daddy replied, just as the sirens went off in the distance.

Finally, they were there. Why had it taken them so long to get there? Before they could reach me, another bout of pain, worse than the other, blindsided me. This time, I actually screamed. It was awful. I could actually hear their screaming, ringing in my ears. It felt as if I died every single time someone did. God, I wanted it to die.

That was it. I wanted to just die there. And, for a minute, I thought I was going to. I thought I was going to die right there, in my Dad's lap, with all my friends gathered around me. At some point, I was loaded onto a stretcher. I don't really remember a lot after that

Like I said, things are really fuzzy.

The next thing I clearly remember was being in a hospital room. There was still the pain in my head, though it seemed to have dulled some. I felt like I was on drugs. Everything was going in slow motion. I saw doctors constantly walking in and out, checking on my head and going through simple tests. There was a T.V in my room, right up on the wall. It was streaming a live newsfeed of what was happening not too far from where I was sitting. The burning towers. The twin towers. My symbol of peace.

A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. It was real. This was really happening. Had it not been for my head wounds, I wouldn't believe this. I would've just thought it was some movie trailer.

All I could do was sit there and stare, speechless, as I watched people jump from the building. Each time someone did, I felt a twinge in the back of my head, making me wince and groan.

It was only in that moment that I noticed my Dad was sitting in a chair next to me, his hand gripping mine tightly, his head bowed in prayer. Now, this was a shocking sight for me. All the states were religious, in some way, but I had never seen him pray.

Another tear slid down my cheek. Just then, I glanced at the clock. 9:57 am. A minute later, the pain flared up again, and I screamed, as loud as I could. It was worse than anything I'd ever felt. I heard Daddy gasp and then let out a chocked sob. Then, I felt myself being gathered up in his arms. But, I was torn out of them a moment later by the doctors. The wound on my head, the one representing the South Tower, had reopened, and it was bleeding worse than ever.

The room was chaos. Doctors were rushing everywhere, trying to get me stabilized, trying to stop the bleeding, and trying to keep my siblings from getting into the room. What I heard from my Daddy and siblings later was that I had had a seizure. Little did I know it would be the first of many. I think around this time, I passed out. To be honest, I don't remember much of the next hour...besides the pain. Oh God...Around 10:30 am, I woke up, screaming, crying, and thrashing. Another seizure, more pain, and the other tower was gone.

It was all rubble now...Ground Zero...Now that is an appropriate term for what I saw. Whenever someone says "apocalypse", the first image to flash through my mind is that of the leveled trade centers. There was just...nothing left. Even when I was lying in the hospital bed, after it was all over, I felt this sense of emptiness. For maybe the hundreth time that day, I wanted to die.

The day passed by slowly and each tick of the clock made me wince. Daddy still sat there, the entire time, holding my hand. He never let go, just like he promised me when I was a little girl and he first found me. The next person to enter the room was Tokyo, at around four o' clock. She immediately gasped and tried to keep from crying. Scuttling over to my bed, she dragged a chair over and sat next to me, laying her head next to mine on the pillow and whispering things to me I couldn't understand in Japanese. It was about an hour and a half later that I had yet another seizure, nearly scaring my best friend and Dad to death. This one wasn't as bad as the other, seeing as nobody died in the collapse of the building. But, another wound had appeared in my head, causing even more brain trauma.

This is another point where it gets fuzzy. I don't remember a lot of what happened. I do, however, distinctly recall each country and city that came to visit me. Paris told me of what her country was doing to help and told me that "today, I am an American." She left me after kissing my forehead and promising to pray for me. London told me of what her country was doing in honor of the attacks and she promised that she would help me in any way that she could; Uncle England agreed with her. They both left not long after. I recieved a visit from Ireland on the night of the fourteenth and that was pleasant. He told me that his country had National Day of Mourning, just like Israel. Uncle Mattie visited as well and he, at least, didn't talk to me about the attacks. He did everything but talk to me about the attacks, which I thought was a great thing.

The whole time, though, Tokyo and Daddy had never left my side.

I wasn't allowed to leave the hospital and I was cared for by every person they could spare. From what I heard from Daddy, I had surgery done on my brain by a neurosurgeon because the three wounds in my head had caused substantial damage. Again, things get really, really fuzzy here. Actually, it's not really fuzzy, but black. Like it just never happened. Now that I look back at it, I'm glad I don't remember that much, because what I do remember is nothing but pain. The pain was just a constant thing. That and the seizures.

I had a seizure every day and, some days, it was multiple. I just wanted to kill myself...The pain was too much to bear, I was only a burden, and things had really hit rock-bottom for me. I wasn't allowed to walk around, I was waited so much that I never had to lift a finger and, worst of all, I couldn't go outside. I wasn't even allowed to go to the window of my hospital bedroom. The doctors feared that the strain on my body would've caused something else to go wrong. Days blurred together with weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Nothing changed, nothing improved, and nothing helped me. I was also wheelchair bound.

I spent most of my day in my hospital room sleeping, watching T.V, or talking with the visitors I usually had. Daddy came to visit every single day. The World Meetings were held in New York, so that everyone could visit and Daddy would be able to stay near me and come running if something went wrong. The gang were regulars and often visited on weekends, when their parents allowed it. Tokyo was the only regular of the entire gang. She came in every Saturday the minute visiting was allowed and left when the nurses forced her to leave.

I don't know how long I was at that place...Four years, I think? Around that...Then, I was finally allowed to move in with Daddy, and he was not allowed to travel so that he could watch me. We ended up going to the big house he owns in Texas. It was large enough to hold the whole family, plus a few extras. And that's exactly what it did. When I made it to Texas and we got into the house, I saw my siblings running around, laughing, talking and playing. There was a mountain of suitcases by the door. They all had moved into the big house, just for me.

The moment they'd noticed me, they swarmed me and showered me with hugs, kisses and love. It was the first glimpse of light in the darkness I had seen. I ended up sitting in between Virginia and Pennsylvania, two of my siblings who had been affected by the attacks as well. We found comfort in one another and, I will admit, it was really my family that kept me going.

And, then it's black for another few years. I mean, I don't remember any of it. Like I said, it's just like it never happened. The doctors say that it's normal and I'll probably loose more of my memory, considering how bad the damage was. They also informed me, well they told Daddy and my friends, that I would probably be...slower than most people. I'd also be a tad hyperactive, easily distracted, etc. All side effects of the brain trauma.

In 2010, when I heard the news of Osama Bin Laden, I cried. I sat on the couch, curled in a ball, and wept with relief. He was dead. He was really gone. I didn't have to worry about him anymore. I no longer needed to look behind my back every ten seconds, I didn't have to have nightmares about him coordinating an attack to bomb the Statue of Liberty...He was dead, and I was alive. But, it was in that moment that I realized something: I didn't hate him. God, I wanted to. I wanted to hate him with every fiber of my being, but I couldn't. Hate is what had started this whole thing, what had gotten peopel killed, what had sparked this useless bloodshed...I was not capable of hate. I was not the monster that they were. This realization shocked me, but relieved me. I was so...happy, that this was all over...At least for me. There are still more people who have to fight against this hate, this cruelty, and this threat to freedom. I wish I could join them, I wish I could help fight, but I can't. I'm still fighting, really. My body is still fighting it's own war. But, I will guarentee, that the moment I am healthy enough to serve, you'll see me out there, right alongside my cousins, friends, siblings, and other people who agree with me on one thing: this hatred must stop.

That's all from me, for now.

From,
New York City

Hope you liked the first entry! Now, the other cities I anticipate doing are:

Paris - The French Revolution
Kaliningrad - Königsberg or Kaliningrad? ((this is after WWII and when the Soviets begin to fill Königsberg. This is around the time that he begins to lose his memory.))
Berlin - The Berlin Wall
London - The Great Fire of London
Tokyo - Tōhoku Earthquake and Tsunami
Moscow - The Russian Revolution
Pearl Harbor - The Attack on Pearl Harbor ((this one is already written up, I'm going to post it later))
Honolulu - Becoming Part of the U.S

If you have any suggestions, please, feel free to share them with me!

P.S- I want to write something with Madrid, but I have no ideas! If you have a suggestion for what I could write for her, please, share it with me.