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THE FACE OF EVIL

WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED

By mark william smithPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 17 min read
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If walls could talk, the incredible stories we could tell.

Let’s face it, ever since mankind has been building structures, my fellow walls and I have witnessed the unfolding of history around the world. We get torn down, burned, bombed and allowed to rot. We are often rebuilt and witness even more events.

We’ve seen lots of sex, which is always fun, births, close times with family, arguments, fights, murders, crimes, plotting, business deals, and every imaginable aspect of human behavior.

We have been present at the forks in the road where people made decisions and took the actions which impacted the course of history.

Many times we were proud to stand at these crossroads, many moments were pleasant, some euphoric and sometimes we rejoiced at the heroic choices made by humankind.

But the opposite was also true. Some choices made by “humans” were deplorable, resulting in incalculable amounts of needless suffering and destruction.

This is one of those heinous events.

*

At 7:59 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 departed from Boston for Los Angeles, carrying 92 people.

United Flight 175, carrying 65 people, left Boston at 8:14 a.m., headed for Los Angeles.

*

It started as what I would call a normal day. Dawn broke slowly, thinning the darkness to the west with a faint light, raising the curtain of another day for the eastern seaboard. A few clouds floated lazily on the canvas of pale blue sky. Below our office on the ninetieth floor was the Hudson River and I could see the statue of liberty, which at that distance seemed to be a tiny figurine standing on Ellis Island, right arm raising the copper torch, our enduring symbol of freedom and democracy.

Across the Hudson River, to the west and south I could see the skyline of New York and New Jersey. Assorted sea craft cut white furrows in the choppy, green waters of the Hudson. There were pleasure boats and larger seafaring cargo haulers headed south, where the Hudson emptied into the Atlantic Ocean.

I was lucky, I was a wall in the southwest corner of the south tower. I was oriented at an angle to the corner of the room, so I looked out of the building directly to the southwest. The view was spectacular.

From the 90th floor of the World Trade Center with the vast panorama to the south and west in front of me, I felt like I was sitting on the top of the world. Every day I was blessed with a 24 hour view which took my breath away.

I shared the corner space with Darla, the branch manager, quite nice looking I might add, and always upbeat. At the age of twenty-four she was on the fast track with the bank, had just received a promotion into the loan department and next week she would be moving to another office. I felt proud that she was the youngest employee ever, male or female, to be promoted to corporate in a professional position.

Yep. The woman had it all, gorgeous looks, high intelligence, personal skills and a work ethic equal to anyone. She was going places and I liked to think of myself as her partner.

Today she was in about 700 a.m. which was fairly normal for her. I could tell by her conversations yesterday she had a couple of ‘deals’ cooking and wanted to take care of some details, check in with the stock market, review her paperwork, and whatever else manager's might do.

There were two pictures on her desk of her child, a girl 4 years old, whose name was Sierra. Darla was a single mother separated for about a year now. I didn’t understand that one. The woman was about as good a catch as a man could want and why her husband was motivated to chase around with other ladies I will never understand.

Humans.

Though she often did, Darla had not brought her daughter in with her today. Probably, I figured, some kind of logistics issue going on with dad.

It was very enjoyable to me to watch the amount of attention Darla received from the men. At least a couple men a day made some type of romantic overture in her direction. She was always friendly and polite, thanked them, said she was flattered by their attention and advised them that she was engaged. Now, that statement, for most men put up a barrier which they normally respected and it cooled their attempts at a romantic connection. She often assured them that if she weren’t engaged, they would definitely be someone she would be interested in, even if I personally didn’t think they had a chance in hell. That left the men feeling good about themselves and she could continue a pleasant relationship with them, which was good for business. Under her leadership for the last two years the branch had experienced record growth.

Somedays it was foggy outside and I couldn’t see anything but the grey swirling cloud. It was a unique feeling for me, to feel so incredibly isolated sitting in the grey cloud, in a room I knew to be 90 floors up in the sky.

A few people popped their heads in the door to say “morning” and jabber a few words of pleasant, small talk on their way to their office.

Our office, Darla’s and mine, was in the southwest corner of the southwest office of the southern tower, Tower 2. I faced directly southwest, defining a space in the corner of the main office and providing a feeling of privacy for Darla. She backed her chair up to me, and we shared the panoramic view.

Every so often she would look up from her desk and I could see her drifting away as if on a plane headed somewhere, let’s say an island. I happen to know her goal was to buy property on an island and move there within a decade. I am convinced that she was talented enough, hard-working enough, and attractive enough to make that happen. If it ever happened, I hoped she would take me with her.

It was about 840 a.m. and the office had filled with the banking clerks and many of the loan officers. The floor plan layout of the main office was open and spacious and there were few walls to block the line of sight which is the reason I was only 5 feet tall and over in the corner.

There. I confess. I am only a half wall, but it still counts. In my opinion I and my partner, Darla, share one of the best views in the country every day.

*

At 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 struck the north tower, Tower 1, of the World Trade Center around floors 85 to 90.

*

It was about 8:45 when there was a shocking, immense explosion which rocked our building and everyone in it.

What the…?

Darla stood up from her desk, moved to the western windows and looked out at the north tower, Tower 1. In reaction to the shocking sight her hand immediately covered her mouth. She bent over in disbelief, took a few moments to gather herself, straightened up and said Tower 1 was billowing black smoke and fire at about the same floor as us.

She went straight to the phone and snapped it up. After the quick call, she hung up, got on the intercom, said, “Tower 1 has been hit by an airplane. I advise everyone to leave now.”

There was a sudden scramble and bustle of activity, and lots of panicked chatter. People were headed for the doors.

Darla made sure everyone was out before she left and locked the doors.

I am glad she made it out and would probably be safe. Our building seemed to be fine, no smoke and no flames that I could see.

There was a mirror in the corner of her desk and using that mirror, surprisingly, I had a decent view of the raging smoke and fire in Tower 1. The flames were long, flicking like whips out of the foaming charcoal smoke which was streaming wildly from the floors where the plane had hit.

My view was a bit obstructed as the window glass was only eighteen inches in width but along the western horizon, flying north to south, I saw the dark shape of a jet flying much lower than the jets leaving Boston I was usually able to see. At that distance it seemed to be a small dot skimming the skyline. At least it seemed to be moving distinctly south very wide of our building.

For a plane out of Boston, I’d never seen that particular flight pattern.

I was surprised when I heard the door to the office reopen. The employees were entering and a bustling, chatter began filling the office.

What? Why would they be returning?

Soon, Darla was in our corner speaking to someone I couldn’t see.

“Security downstairs told us the authorities called and said it was recommended to return to our office and not disrupt the evacuation of Tower 1. With all that chaos going on over there maybe that makes sense,” Darla said.

She walked over to the window with a small group and looked north, to the south side of Tower 1.

“God,” someone said, “what are those fire balls falling out of the windows?”

A man pulled out a pair of binoculars from his desk nearby and adjusted them into focus.

“God,” he said, “people are on fire. Their jumping.”

“I don’t know about this,” Darla said as she picked up her phone and punched a number. “Busy,” she said as she slammed the phone down.

I looked again at the plane I’d spied earlier moving south along the western horizon. It was farther south of us now and I thought we were safe. The plane was still a good distance away, seemed to be flying just above the ragged skyline. I noticed the jet start a long, slow curve eastward, curling in our direction, but still well to the south of us.

She took a phone call about 901. She hung up the phone and over the intercom she yelled, “leave the building now. Orders have changed. We have been advised to leave the building immediately.” She slammed the phone down.

A sigh of relief escaped me as she got up from her desk.

Run dammit. Run.

Something must have got through to her as there was a new urgency in her movements. She grabbed her bag, didn’t log off her computer, ran for the bank door and disappeared in the crowd of people.

That is when I looked back to the window and watched the plane continue its long curving path until in the far distance, I could see it was aligning its flight path with our building.

The plane was coming in very low. It crossed the river and was coming straight at us from the south. It was much closer now, and I had a sense of its enormity, could feel its speed and power. It was coming straight for us, slicing through space at over 500 miles per hour.

There was no doubt now. I knew it was going to hit us, but it was too soon to tell if it would miss our floor.

I hoped Darla was safe.

*

United Flight 175, struck floors 77 to 85 of the south World Trade Center Tower 2 at approximately 9:03 a.m.

*

The force of the impact was massive, the building shook, swaying a full six feet. In seconds, black smoke was billowing from below and a burst of flame was flicking outside past the windows. The smoke was thick and in moments the heat was scorching. My paint was blistering. The furniture was catching fire. The flames were relentless, working up through the floor, filling the room. The air hurt.

I hoped Darla had got passed the floors where the plane had hit. I looked over to the north building, and through the smoke from our building I could see Tower 1 was covered in flames and smoke.

People were jumping.

*

At approximately 10 a.m. World Trade Center Tower 2 collapsed.

*

At about 10 a.m. the floor sagged. Something started to give. In moments there was gigantic shifting, and I was plummeting into a raging river of smoke and flame. I saw nothing but streaming, black smoke, and golden red flames as I spiralled into the scorching darkness.

I was breaking apart, smashing violently into other construction materials, caught in the avalanche of twisted steel, broken walls, ceilings, furniture, and metal.

I landed hard, in a dark, swirling dust. The dim light was quickly blocked. The material around me was still scorching hot.

I could do nothing but wait, as I was crushed under the tons of wreckage, the cooling materials, and worst of all, I could hear the muffled, painful moans of people suffering until the ends of their lives.

There was a heavy gloom smothering me. It seemed like a long time until from far back in the darkness, I heard scraping sounds. Occasionally, an awkwardly balanced bunch of material shifted in the debris, and I heard random muffled crashes within the destroyed building.

Somewhere in the rubble, I heard a man on a cell phone. In between coughs and gasps he was giving directions to the people above trying to dig through the mountains of refuse. He was telling someone if the sounds grew louder or softer when the diggers changed areas.

I figured they were slowly determining his position.

There were scraping sounds for at least a couple hours. Things were shifting and being moved. The phone went dead but the rescuers did not quit. It was a painfully, slow process.

They found the man unconscious, but alive.

*

I felt compelled to share this with you because we must never forget this needless tragedy.

This day we have seen the face of evil and all its ugliness. What else would plan the slaughter of 3000 innocent souls, causing needless, horrific suffering?

I can still hear the moans, and the muffled cries. I still feel the heat, blistering my skin, see the flames filling the room and rushing over me, until I was consumed by flames. Unlike the people of this tragedy I didn’t die, I just kept feeling more pain. I am thankful that the suffering for most victims is done.

Unreasoning, blind hatred twists and distorts basic logic, basic humanity, somehow justifying to the perpetrators this kind of horror.

The memory of this day is, for many Americans, an ugly wound on the body of our history.

I believe we will never heal the murderers of their hatred. We must prepare to defend ourselves from this evil at all costs. We need to hunt this evil like it is a wild animal, and when we find it, we must crush it.

Regrettably, the radical savages responsible for these types of crimes against humanity, will never understand anything but violence, and I doubt they will even understand that.

*

I am moved by the selfless heroism of that day. People rushed into the mayhem, sacrificing their lives in the hopes that they would save others. Enough cannot be said about the selfless acts and tireless effort of the rescuers.

*

We must embrace and internalize the fact that hatred is never the answer.

We must accept and respect beliefs different from our own.

There are segments of our society who embrace these concepts.

These are nice concepts, appropriate things to say, but I question their value when I look at the prevalence of hate within our own country.

Given the perspective now of twenty-one years since the tragedy, let’s make an assessment. Just how are we doing as one of the richest and best educated countries of the world?

My opinion is that hatred and ignorance are running rampant within our borders.

Consider that there are more mass shootings in our country than ever, and our government will not adopt common sense aspects of gun control. Children are being senselessly killed and we can’t, or won't, realize that the lack of weapons control is an important factor contributing to this tragedy. Why will we not take action? Is there a great deal of money at stake?

The police, a group I have an ultimate respect for, are needlessly murdering the citizens they have sworn to protect. How do we combat this type of inhumanity and how can it possibly be thriving in our 'advanced' society?

The Me Too movement arose because the sexual violence against women has been ignored and accepted as the norm in certain segments of society for decades.

People are hated and massacred for their sexual preference.

Asians are hated and beaten because of a disease originating in China.

Our government can’t or won't devise a humane policy regarding immigration. These immigrants, like the people who founded our country, just want a chance to provide a life for their families. Often, they are trying to escape to America from cartel run or impoverished countries. They just want a chance. Why do we choose to not devise a humane policy addressing immigration?

These instances are a horribly incomplete list of issues which in reality is endless. Hatred and greed within our own borders seem to be more prevalent than ever.

Globally, the picture is even worse.

One extreme example is the killing of women for not covering their hair appropriately and this is just the tip of the global insanity when it comes to human rights.

What can we possibly hope to do about this basic lack of humanity?

The issues seem to be too many and too large to be dealt with. We are losing the battle, but we cannot and should not quit trying.

Every minor kindness makes a difference, but it will take an infinite number of kindnesses to make societal change.

The government, our most powerful weapon against poverty and ignorance, has to commit to being a force for change but the people of America will not, and cannot absorb the monetary cost of this massive commitment.

So, in twenty years it seems to me that we are losing the battle of hatred, even within our own country, let alone the world.

If we can’t make progress in our own country, how can we possibly create an environment of acceptance and peace across the globe?

*

How am I doing you ask?

I have been lucky. After 911 I was remade into a backer board and am in a coffee shop somewhere in Manhattan.

I don’t have the gorgeous view of the New York skyline, but I have a nice view of a sidewalk and the steady flow of pedestrian traffic. I hear lots of fascinating conversations every day and I am always learning so much from them.

I am very fortunate. And thankful.

The door opens, dinging the bell, and two women come through the door.

I don’t believe it. I would recognize her in an instant. It is Darla and she is what? About forty-six now and she still radiates happiness. The other woman is much younger and looks so much like her, it must be her daughter Sierra.

How wonderful after all this time to know that she made it out alive. A miracle.

Shortly after the 911 attack, I had learned that only 4 people from Tower 2 escaped from the floors above where the plane hit. And it was a phenomenal twist of fate and luck that staircase A was still open so the survivors could escape.

Darla and Sierra sat right next to me at a table near the window.

At that moment a young man about 18 years of age came through the front door. He looked around the room as if making some type of assessment before he took a handgun from under his coat and began firing.

There was screaming, breaking glass, an alarm.

He ran from the building.

Darla and her daughter lay on the floor just below me in a widening red pool.

There were more gunshots outside, in the street.

I learned that the shooter was killed by the police.

Darla, her daughter, and two others were killed.

The assailant had targeted no specific person for his attack. He just needed to kill.

His motive is not known.

Historical
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About the Creator

mark william smith

I have been writing now as a hobby for 20 years.

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  • Donna Reneeabout a year ago

    Wow that was such a heavy take on this challenge. 😞. It was a gripping read, for sure!!

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