This is a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class recently. My teacher really liked it, and so did some kids in my class. I personally thought it was a bit cheesy, but whatever. I decided to share it since I havent been active in a long time, and even when I was, I didnt share a lot of my work. So I present to you...
Ascension
I could hear screaming, but nothing else. There were a few that were running to the stairs and elevators as fast as they could, knocking anyone who dared get into their way. There were a few others that only stood there in shock, not quite believing what was about to happen, I was one of them.
Then the plane hit, and an explosion rocked the building, knocking every person to the floor. But the sound, the shaking, it didn’t stop. I could feel the room instantly warm up, and keep warming.
And then they were gone; the few that had made it to the elevator disappeared in a waterfall of orange and yellow flames. Then the waterfall turned and forced its way to me. The flames never found me, but the blast of heat knocked me backwards, and for a moment I could have sworn I was dead. The wall of fire was burned into my vision, and a ringing sound hid all the screams I’m sure were there.
I groaned; it was the first sign I was still alive. I tried rolling over, but failed, I couldn’t get the momentum I needed. I unclenched my eyes and saw the normally white tiles reflecting the orange fire that I knew was consuming the room. A man in a suit ran past me, not even looking towards me to see if I was alive. I worked my way to my feet, and did a self check. Nothing was broken, but everything hurt. My skin felt like I was standing in the middle of a fire, and in a sense, I was. In every direction I looked, desks and papers were on fire. And then I saw a man consumed in flames running to the window. It all seemed unimportant, as if I were only watching a movie, and none of this was actually happening. And all I had to do was just stand here and watch and wait for a hero to emerge, the scene to end, some epic climax in which everything was set right.
Then slowly my hearing started coming back, and with it, my ability to think. There was no hero; there was only these people and me. The scene wasn’t going to end till I moved, and the climax was either my escape or my death.
I looked around, trying to figure out what it was that I was supposed to do to help this man that was about to die. And slowly I came to the realization there was nothing I could do to stop him. Silently he fell through the blown out window, no sound passed his lips. No one noticed this mans last act but me. And in a moment, I felt more alone that I had in my whole life.
For some reason I still couldn’t move, I still couldn’t act. I just stood there, mesmerized by the chaos, the insignificance of a single death. My father used to always say that it was in the midst of a disaster that people showed who they truly were. It was the events like this that defined a person.
Strength to move, intellect to act, and motivation to have this moment define who I was slowly crept in. I walked awkwardly towards the closest person, a man with severe black burns all over his body lying sprawled out across the floor. His pant leg was on fire. Using my burnt hands, I patted it out. I could feel the heat and feel my burnt flesh, but it didn’t seem to bother me. It wasn’t pain, I was past that point.
I checked his pulse, nothing. I moved my fingers around desperately looking for a pulse, but his body was still. I stood up disheartened. I went body to body, searching each one for a pulse, each time moving a little bit faster until I was running. But they were all dead. The truth sank in, and as I looked around the room, I came to the realization that everyone on this floor that had survived had already started their descent down the stairs. I was the last on the whole floor to have acted. I was the only person on the whole floor to have thought of saving others. I was the last living person on the floor.
The flames around me grew, half the room was being consumed by the fire. I ran to the stairs, ready to follow suit those that had self-preservation on the mind. But then I saw the stairs. There were the steps leading down, and then there were the steps leading up. I could still act, I could still help. I could save one person from certain death. I knew I could do that. I knew that if there was even one person that I could help, that my life would mean something and that my life wasn’t without purpose. Even if no one else remembered me but that one person. I knew my decision. I was a fool, a brave fool, but still a fool. I heard screams, and I started my ascent.
People ran past me, pushing and shoving me out of the way. I was a hindrance to their safety. I stepped to the side, and watched the chaos. I saw two men and a woman get pushed down, and then trampled by the procession of frantic survivors. I could hear bones crunch, and I watched each one as they took their last few breaths. Then a woman was pushed over the safety rails and my heart jumped, and then it sank even as she fell. I wondered if she had family, a husband, kids. I felt sick to my stomach, but I held it in.
The procession of people thinned out, and now most of the people that were coming down were carrying people. These were the men and woman who my father had talked about. These were the modern day heroes. This is who I wanted to be. I asked a woman if she needed help carrying a kid not much older than me. She nodded, sweat from the effort and the heat dripping from her forehead. I picked up his legs while she carried him beneath the arms, and we walked down one step at a time. Soon we reached a floor and there were firemen running towards us. One of them took the boy and threw him over his shoulder effortlessly and told us to follow him.
“Wait, I’m still healthy.” The woman seemed even calmer than the firefighters if that was possible. “I need to go back up and help. There’s no way you have enough men to do this all yourselves. Especially after the second buildings been hit. I’m a Marine, I signed up for this.”
“What building?” I asked.
“The North Tower was hit with a plane. I saw it out the window.”
My heart sank. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack on the country.
“Both of you get out of this building now, were here to help you, not get help from you. Go!” he pointed down the stairs to emphasize his point.
“No.” They both looked at me, “This is my country too. Were under attack. If we don’t help, then we are no better than the suicidal maniacs who did this.”
The woman finished my statement “It’s a good day to die. I don’t care what you say, were going back up.” She turned around and ran up the stairs, I took one look at the firefighter, and then turned around and followed her. I wondered briefly if my father would be proud of me, or call me a fool.
For two hours the Marine and I ran up and down the stairs, carrying people one at a time. The firefighters soon started to become desperate, and would just hand people to us before they went back into the flames to rescue someone else. They were the true heroes here. They were risking their lives, I was just carrying people. But then the other building collapsed. And we knew that it was a race against time and fate. Would this building collapse too?
A firefighter handed a small girl over to me; I couldn’t believe she was still alive, and wasn’t even sure if she was. “Get out of here now! We got the warning, this buildings gonna collapse!” I nodded. My arms, shoulder and legs were all so tired; I couldn’t believe I hadn’t collapsed yet. I knew this was going to be my last trip.
“What about you guys?”
He shook his head “Were staying!”
I nodded, understanding what that entailed, and then he turned around and ran back up the stairs. I couldn’t believe he could still run like that after all this, or how he could still be so selfless in the face of certain death.
I turned around and started a fast but weary walk down the stairs. A few times I almost collapsed, or dropped the girl. I wondered where the Marine was, she had helped me carry almost every body so far except for the last few, all children. But I knew exactly where she was; she was with the firefighters, serving her country.
I finally reached the bottom floor. It was almost unrecognizable from when I last saw it this morning. I was not far from the exit when the building started to shake. I started sprinting. Screams from outside and the few that were still inside grew louder and louder. The building was collapsing. I ran as fast as I could while carrying the little girl over my shoulder, not even sure if she was dead or not. I knew that if I dropped her, I might be able to get out in time, but I kept her little body over my shoulder and continued my sprint. I made it through the exit, and had made it thirty feet before the building completely collapsed. The power of the impact forced a wall of dust and debris at my back, shoving me into the air. And then I blacked out.
Advice, criticism, praise, flames, its all welcome. I went for the crappy "dont tell the reader if the character lives or dies" ending because I didnt know myself if he lived or died. No ending sounded good to me so I kind of just didnt have one. So advice on that would deffinitly be helpful.
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There's a twisted sense of justice leaving a reader baited, and leaving a story open to interpretation.
