9/11 Wasn'T Heaven

9/11 Wasn't Heaven. Take it from one who was there. Corpses, body parts, impaled bodies were most of what I saw there. 9/11 Wasn't Heaven but not because of the horror I saw. On 9/11 I learned to hate. I never felt hatred before. We were all instructed to bring to a certain section anything that may contain DNA. A hair brush, make up kit, anything that may identify the forever lost in this grave. I spent most of my time on what was known as "The bucket brigade," an assembly line of us passing buckets of debris with hope of saving they who were buried. Every now and then something caught my eye. New visions of horror never thought could be seen by I. Someone with a heavy push broom pushing debris and then that someone stops suddenly and picks up what appears to me a piece of carpet very carefully. After my closer inspection however of checking the carpet out I then came to realize, it wasn't a piece of carpet. What it was was someones scalp. The buckets kept coming, never stopping, never ending but still out of the corner of my eye kept drawing my attention. Like a zombie I broke away from the bucket brigade I think I was beginning to feel afraid of what it would be that was drawing me and coming with every step much closer to me. I bent over and picked up a mangled Barbi doll. "Are you going to come across the corpse of a child? This doll may have some DNA of some poor child lost in all this decay." With those thoughts I made an about face and made a B line to the DNA place, I deposited the doll and then ran off like a frightened child. I Had To Get Out Of This Place! I no sooner got home when guilt hit me like a thrown stone. While showering all of the days grime off of me I broke down in the shower and cried like a baby hysterically. "How could you be such a coward? How could you run off on all of them? How could you abandon all of they who aren't dead and still living? How could you be such a coward? How could you run and hide?" I've learned since then that I wasn't a coward. I was traumatized, but sadly to this day the only way I live with myself for running away is because it wouldn't have mattered anyway. My presence wouldn't have made a difference. No One Survived.