Dedicated to all the men and women who gave their lives on September 11, 2001 and to all the men and women who have dedicated their lives to defending this old torn and tattered flag and all others throughout the country. You have my many thanks.

A Torn and Tattered Flag

The sun shone brightly on New York City that fateful day, the light reflecting off the smooth, glass faces of the World Trade Centers. I watched the world from my perch atop the South Tower. Snapping smartly in the breeze, my colorful uniform was a beacon amongst the steel beasts. It was just another ordinary day, so we thought. People rushed into work, business went on as usual all around me, the traffic was at its normal standstill. After a couple of hours though, something went horribly, horribly wrong. I've always seen planes flying over our lovely city, but something didn't sit quite right with me about this one. It was flying much too low and way too fast. It would never be able to pull up in time. I could only watch in fascinated horror as it slammed into the North Tower. My counterpart across the way waved bravely once more then slowly, the tower began to collapse. I'll never forget the horrific sounds that came from within the dying steel beast. The explosion of flames and smoke, the shattering of glass, the groaning and shrieking of bending and twisting steel, and no one could ever forget the terrified screams of the humans trapped inside. I watched as my comrade slowly faded away into the tumbling debris. I barely saw the other plane before it struck. The tower beneath me gave a mighty shudder and then I heard the explosion and saw the smoke. I knew I was doomed. I would soon be joining my friend far below. I waved on though, giving the sun one last salute. Slowly, the tower began to collapse dragging me down with it. I was pummeled relentlessly by the tumbling debris. My fabric was being torn apart alongside the world as it all dissolved into chaos. The crashing of steel and rubble sounded like a million horses pounding through the air. I continued the plunge into the abyss, free-falling through open space. People are screaming and crying out all around me. Though I can't make a sound I feel as of I am screaming too. Then IMPACT! Bodies and debris come crashing down around me, on top of me, burying me in what I believe shall be my final resting place. More and more debris falls on top sounding like a rumbling thunderstorm that never ended, burying everyone under feet of steel and concrete. Finally, the noise dies down fading away altogether being replaced by the eerie silence. New noises replace the old. People cry out for help, sirens come dashing in from the distance. Maybe there's hope yet that we'll be found. The sirens arrived and doors slamming and feet running could be heard. People begin shouting orders at each other. The buried people begin yelling, "Over here!, I'm over here!" Meanwhile, I could only lay there, my bruised and battered colors pinned beneath the rubble, and hope that eventually they would find me. As I waited I could hear people scrambling above me removing rubble, hoping, praying that they would find someone who lived beneath the rubble. Occasionally someone would call out that they had found someone and the pounding of feet would run past. Then after what seems like hours of waiting, daylight began to seep through the cracks above me, shadows being cast by the rescue efforts moving around above me. Suddenly, brilliant light blinded me. The rescue worker had removed the last of the rubble that had buried me. I found myself staring into the tear and dirt-streaked face of a fireman who gazed upon my battered self with a look of awe upon his face. He called some of his fellow firefighters over. Together they reverently lifted me, torn and tattered, from the wreckage of the once proud towers. If I could have cried I would have. The Towers that once stood so proud and tall were now reduced to a mass of mangled steel and rubble. Smoke and ash hung in the air, casting a hazy gray over the previously blue, unblemished sky. The firefighters carried me over to where a metal pole stood, hung with rope, and raised me high above the wreckage for the entire world to see. As I surveyed the wreckage from my new vantage point I swelled with pride. As I, just a torn and tattered flag, waved in the small breeze our country united with a renewed sense of pride though we had just suffered a devastating loss and tragedy. I may be just a torn and tattered flag, but I'm a symbol of our country's pride and after today I know it’s true.