09–11–2001- Walking FDR Drive
The white and grey ash was now wide upon the highway. My feet dragging over the road, small stones beneath, while touching a bent guardrail. Barely moving. Maybe ten feet to see, thick murk and dark, stepping into nowhere. Looking ahead others march through the ash clutching their souls, withering, with muted cries and fires burning hot.
The tower falls and empties into eternity. I move taking small breaths and can’t see my way but push on. I look at the others, ash covering their faces, bruised and bloodied. Souls taken. Death’s soldier’s step gently leaving footprints in the ash fading into the day interrupted. My fury and pain consume me. Swallowing it, a burial. It lives on in dark places echoing into this life.
Moving but still, I walk. Cloaked in stillness and ash I feel nothing. Death is my life. Even if the ash cleared there was no way off this road. This tortuous path gnawing and tearing, breaking small pieces of me and slowly slipping into black. The ash now falls softly, as the fires fade and gasp into the void. It now begins.
