Skylines and Turnstiles

Tuesday

Blinding white light and metallic screeches. Heat and the smell of gasoline. I can feel it all around me; the terror, the heartbreak. Another flash, and rubble falls to the ground. My heart beats faster and I look up to the fire that is stories above my vision.
The horrified screams of people around me are replaced by sirens and the thwop of helicopter blades. Navy-clad men yell for us to get back, move far away, lest they fall. Frantic phone calls are being made as businessmen and women run crying to their cars and other modes of transportation.

Monday

I calmly pry my leg from my daughter's grasp, and wave goodbye as I drive away. On the endless highway I mumble and yell at all the morons who are clogging up the roads. I park my car, ride the escalator to mycell floor. Mindlessly exchange casualties with others as one-by-one we punch our times.
I mutter curses as my boss piles onto my desk hours worth of work. Work I have no time for as it is. I discuss going out for drinks with my colleagues, to take the edge of my rough day. How was I to know what tomorrow would bring?

Tuesday

Just as the realization dawns on the faces around me, there is another flash, another screech, and more screams. Louder and louder the noises grow until I swear I will bleed form the ears. As news trucks and vans and copters arrive I know that this will be on the news tonight. This will be on the news tomorrow night, and the night after that.
Thick, black smoke chokes off the screams from those in the buildings, and the newscasters that are speaking into mics in front of cameras.
After seeing all of this...can we reclaim our innocence?
Will my daughter see this death and destruction, and wonder if her daddy is okay?
I should call them, make sure they know I'm still alive.
A part of me wonders what would have happened to me if I hadn't stayed with my girl for just five more minutes.

That morning

"No, honey, I really can't stay any longer. I'll be late for work. I'm sorry. I'll see you tonight when I get home."
I kiss my wife on the cheek as I go, hearing little Linda's whimpers for me to stay.
"I promise I'll be home early tonight. I'll watch a movie with you then. If I'm not home by six, you can eat without me."
On my way to work I get a call from my daughter telling me to be safe today. I tell her I will, and that I love her, all the while wondering what has come over her--she is never this clingy.
I shiver as I step out into the cold September air. There is a chill now that wasn't here just yesterday.

Now

The broken city skyline above me crackles and hisses with flames. I can feel the heat even from down here, and the smell of butane stabs at my lungs, and my nose scrunches. Where is my little Angel when I need her? I should have told her I loved her before I left this morning.
My burning eyes are glued to the scene unfolding above me as steel collapses onto steel, and the sound of splatters reach my ears from far, far away. I want to close my eyes and block out all these monstrosities but I just can't close the lids.
Memories of all the friends I haven't called or spoken to throw a blanket of guilt over me.
I look up to see the blackened metal bending, breaking, their corpses reaching into the sky whose sun had been eclipsed by noxious fumes.
Cold, icy hands grip my heart and I pick up my phone. The world needs something better, and I'm starting with a phone call to my family.