So here I am. The apartment building crumbling around me.
The sun feels nice on my face, but hurts my already wrinkled skin.
There's not much of a breeze, but rather a slow moving invisible wall
of heat, mixed with the smell of death. I never thought of the end like this.
Is it the end though? I'm not sure. I wish I had spent more time in
church, believing in what I couldn't see, more time believing that
this wasn't all there was. If you believe in nothing, is it
nothingness you get in the end? Will that be my punishment? So much to think
about in a moment no longer in time than a breathe. So here I am.


My day started off as if on auto-repeat. If not for the calednar on
my phone I couldn't tell you the day of the week or even the year. I
woke up before my alarm clock, which happened often. I'd move next to
my daily bathroom routine consisting of brushing my face and washing
my teeth, or something of that sort. After breakfast, I'd make my way
to work, tired and starving. Even though I just ate. I haven't slept well these past couple
years. Most nights I lie in bed thinking. I wish I could fix my
mistakes, I wish I could take back what I've done. Every night I wish,
and every night before I can figure out time travel, exhaustion wins
the battle and I decide to sleep. It's only fitting I live in New
York. No one sleeps here. Not even the Sandman could beat some Z's
into these stubborn New Yorkers. I would give anything for a goodnight
sleep, anything... but this.


I always thought I'd be mugged in this parking garage getting to my
car, but it never happened. I always look around the garage and then
make it to my car. I then check the back seat and hurry inside, like
a child, hiding under the covers from the big bad monsters. I've spent years
living in fear of this city due to the media in this country. Yet... I
remain in fear, until today.


The car ride was long and drawn out. Not unusual for a Tuesday morning.
I have never experienced traffic like New York's traffic. Most days I
felt like a herd of snails traveling through peanut butter would make
it to my work before I did. I left the window down in the car to squeeze
out every last drop of summer. You could feel summer begin to yeild to
autumn, but not without a fight. From the look of the day, the beautiful
blue sky and the calm warm wind, you have no idea of the blackened sky
to succeed it.


I never though I'd have a job moving around invisible money. I am very
good at it, but I hate it. Is it really the people who control the money,
or is there a man in an office toying with the idea of pressing the
button that sends us back seventy years. Who knows such things, but it
does cross my mind every now and again.


I recall when I was a kid, I wanted to have a stockpile of money to do
all the things I enjoy. My family wasn't poor growing up. My dad had a
great job working at the Ford plant. My sister and I didn't always have
what we wanted, but we had what we needed. I never really knew my mom.
She passed away from cancer when I was young. My dad is still paying off
her medical bills so he can keep the house. I help out from time to time,
even more now that the plant started making cut-backs. My sister helps
too, whenever her checks come in from overseas. I'm not sure
what my dad does now that he was 'let go'. He was tossed aside like the
notion of a black president after giving that company thirty years of
his life. I remember being infuriated when I read that. It's strange,
today I remember thinking, 'I'll write my dad a letter'.


Usually when I arrive at work I go down to the cafe for a while. The
fast pace of people trying desperately to hold on to their money is
better than a cup of coffee. Today I needed that coffee so I made my way
to my office. After struggling with looking professional, and falling
asleep in the elevator, I made the long journey to my floor. I always
pass the CEO's secretary; She still calls me Baylee, even though that's not
my name. If I were to jump from this building right now, a detective,
unable to identify my mangled corpse would at least get my first name
right. Yet after three years, she still calls me Baylee.


I can usually get away with an hour nap before my first caller. For some
reason all my clients think we open at 9. Why would I correct them? I
think they got that impression because I'll never answer the phone until
then. I need that time to prepare myself for the disgruntled crap of
annoying clients that can't wait to hear my voice. Usually I get in a
nice dream about being on vacation, seeing my family, or having a day off.
We're not even open on Sunday and I'm in here slaving away. 'I'm up, I'm
up'. That dang telephone!


Today I dreamt about my half-brother. Him not knowing anything about me other than the
name on the check I send once a month. I should of met him when I had the chance. I was
invitied to his 7th birthday party. I bought him a fabulous present (A Guitar) and showed up at his house.
I sat outside in my jeep for hours never having the courage to go inside. A part of me died that day.
Today, the rest would follow.


I had been to Los Angeles on business a couple weeks back and experienced
an earthquake. It was a common occurrence out there. A nice old man calmly
talked me through the process of surviving an earthquake while it was
happening, like it was no big deal. A 5.2 is a big deal to me but
Californians just pick up and move on like it's a normal day. Today, even
though I'm in New York, I pictured myself, for a moment, back in LA.


I awoke to a thunderous noice. The building shook violently
beneath my feet and sent me off my rolling chair. I rebounded quickly to my feet
but lost my balance and met with the floor once more. After
slowly positioning myself upright, I began to leave my office to figure
out what happened. I heard yelling that the building was on fire. From what?
A bomb? I made my way to a window but I couldn't see anything through the
cloud of black smoke. I wasn't sure what to do. I was in a panic, so was
everyone else. I remember someone saying, 'it had to have been a bomb, it's
happened here before.'


I had made my way to the fire exit but the smoke was following. After only
a few floors, I had made it to the fire. The intense heat from the blaze was
overwhelming. There was no way I could get to the ground floor, the debris
was everywhere. If a bomb had hit the building, how was it still standing? I
tried frantically to get down the stairs and past the flames. I burnt myself
several times and almost passed out from the fumes. The heat was so fierce it
burned me before the fire had a chance to. At that point, I stopped and made
my way back to my office to wait for help.


On my way back up, the building began to shake once more. I thought, 'it had
to have been an earthquake.' The second rumble felt more tolerable than the
first, but for some reason the footing of the building felt less stable. I
didn't think much of it and continued back to my floor.


I decided when I reached my office that I'm going to wait in style. I made my
way down the hall and kicked open the CEO's office door. Lucky brat didn't
come in today. She's probably out shopping again. I figured no one would care if
I had a drink or two in her office. There was a small, warm breeze coming from
those broken windows, but the now view and the blur of dust below
haunted me to my core. I knew then... I was going to die.


From the time I had realized I'd die, I had
sped through most of the stages of knowing I was gonna die. I had just tried to
bargain with God but now I was depressed. I had spent my whole life working,
trying to build a life for a family I don't even get to see. The family I am
allowed to see I still don't visit. I feel truly alone.


Standing there at the broken window looking down, I could feel the knees of the
building start to buckle. It felt as if my moving would determine the steadiness
of the structure somehow. I pulled out my cell phone and called my dad.
Unfortunately the call went to voicemail. I guess he still doesn't pick up the
phone if he doesn't recognize the number. I guess that's the best way to dodge
the idiots in this world. I left a brief message saying I was sorry and asked him to relay
it to my half brother, sister, and mothers grave. After saying I loved them, I hung up the phone.


I took a deep breath and continued to stand there. I now felt a moment of
peace. All my worries seem to trail off into backround noise. All my anger,
all my pain, all my regret, hidden behind a feeling of freedom. So here I am,
standing alone on the 104th floor in the north tower of the World Trade Center.
I will never know what happened or who did it. I guess it no longer matters now
that I'm going to die. The only question now... was it going to be my choice?

It's a weird feeling knowing you're gonna die. I can only describe it like
holding your breath. You try to hold on, but soon you give in to the inevitible.
You'll take that next breathe, and eventually, take your last.