Suicide Notes Of a New York Love Affair
The Burning City.
This couldn’t be happening. I pushed past the people in front of me, desperate to get to the front. I could see police and fireman rushing to get to the twin towers, retraining people from getting in there themselves to save their loved ones.
“Mikey!” I yelled, running forward to get to the doors. A burly policeman held me back.
“You don’t wanna do that, son,” He said to me. I fought against his iron grasp. He grabbed my jacket and I slid out from it, running towards the burning towers without a backwards glance. I could hear the helicopters flying over me and the police cars swerving around the corners of New York City. After what seemed like days, I got to the doors. Hundreds of people came streaming out of the doors unexpectedly, knocking me over in their hast.
“Mikey!” I shouted hopelessly. “Mikey where are you?”
The crowd thinned eventually as they ran into the panic-stricken city and I saw no aspect of Mikey. No long hair. No horn-rimmed glasses. I came to my senses and grasped the door handle. About five policemen, each more barrel-like than the last, bowled me over and grabbed my arms, dragging me backwards into the city.
“No!” I screamed in protest. “I have to find Mikey!”
“It’s okay, we’ll find him,” one of the firemen shouted to me over the noise.
“But you don’t understand!” I wept. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“We’ll find him,” he said confidently. He gave me one last lingering look before sprinting past the crowds and into the building. I stood up and stood as close to the building as I could. I tried to think over the noise, back to Mikey and I, and tried to think of the things we were going to do together.
But he just has to be alive.
He just has to be.
Again, sorry for the bad memories.
<3
“Mikey!” I yelled, running forward to get to the doors. A burly policeman held me back.
“You don’t wanna do that, son,” He said to me. I fought against his iron grasp. He grabbed my jacket and I slid out from it, running towards the burning towers without a backwards glance. I could hear the helicopters flying over me and the police cars swerving around the corners of New York City. After what seemed like days, I got to the doors. Hundreds of people came streaming out of the doors unexpectedly, knocking me over in their hast.
“Mikey!” I shouted hopelessly. “Mikey where are you?”
The crowd thinned eventually as they ran into the panic-stricken city and I saw no aspect of Mikey. No long hair. No horn-rimmed glasses. I came to my senses and grasped the door handle. About five policemen, each more barrel-like than the last, bowled me over and grabbed my arms, dragging me backwards into the city.
“No!” I screamed in protest. “I have to find Mikey!”
“It’s okay, we’ll find him,” one of the firemen shouted to me over the noise.
“But you don’t understand!” I wept. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“We’ll find him,” he said confidently. He gave me one last lingering look before sprinting past the crowds and into the building. I stood up and stood as close to the building as I could. I tried to think over the noise, back to Mikey and I, and tried to think of the things we were going to do together.
But he just has to be alive.
He just has to be.
Again, sorry for the bad memories.
<3