Our Foundations from Decay

Gerards POV

11th of September, 2001. the day many peoples lives were lost, but the day that mine started.

earlier that day, I had been staying at my dads work with him after school. I usually did this since it was walking distance from school but our house was far away so when he'd finish work, we'd drive home together. Mikey had chess club after school so he didn't get picked up until later.

I sat by my dads desk while he worked, fidgeting with a pencil in my hands and wishing I had paper so I could doodle. "Hey bud, Im done with work." my dad said as he stood up and ruffled my greasy long hair.

We walked towards the exit of the building when my dad turned to me, "shoot, I left my phone at my desk, could ya' grab it for me, kid?" he asked me. I simply nodded. My dad was always like that— cluttered I mean. Leaving coffee and scattered files everywhere. But I'm the same; must have got it from him.

I hurried back in to grab my dads phone while he got in the car. I was slightly annoyed since I had to climb a long, tiring level of stairs. I finally reached the floor and headed to my dads desk when I heard a sudden loud, muffled, booming. It sent a shock wave and pieces of glass and rubble sprayed against the building I was in. I glared out the window, and to my absolute horror, the building next to mine was on fire with more than hundreds of bodies spewing out of it. Ear splitting shrieks of agony pierced through my ear drums as people jumped out of windows and desperately ran around, trying to escape or get help. They all twisted and clumped like vermin crawling senselessly around each other.

My fight-or-flight kicked in and I headed towards the stairs in an adrenaline-filled attempt of getting out of there. I tripped over myself and tumbled down the stairs. Oh well, they were carpeted stairs and it was much faster to tumble down than to run... probably.

I had managed to exit out of the building, just realising that a sea of people were also trying to escape. I was surrounded by warm bodies, fighting to get out, pushing and shoving as a herd of them barrelled through all the exits. I tried desperately to not drown in the crowd as I searched around for my dads car. In the distance, I could hear a vague, familiar voice. "Gerard! Here boy!" It was my dad. He flashed on his car lights and they started blinking at me, I had a clear view of the car but it seemed the world was against my survival because when I looked up— I saw a second plane heading for the tower I was just in. I climbed even faster through the herd of people as tears swelled in my eyes. what if I don't make it? I thought to myself, what life will I have lived? what would I look back on, what would I be proud of accomplishing? it can't end like this. it won't.

I clambered over the remaining people and dove headfirst into my open car window, crash-landing on the seat. " are you okay, my boy?" my dad asked me, but I couldn't talk, I didn't dare to open my mouth. My ears were seething with a painful low ringing as my hearing went in and out along with my vision.

A sudden wave of even more screaming washed over us and when we turned our heads, the second plane was about to go straight into the building. My dad was frozen and I couldn't talk to tell him to drive. I did the next best thing and started screaming from the top of my lungs. It certainly grabbed my dads attention and jolted him into stepping on the gas.

As we speeded away, I looked through the back window and saw the piles of dead, burning bodies. it felt like the apocalypse. Some were squashed flat on the ground; no more than a pile of bones and blood.. I had nightmares about it for over a month.

after the event, me and my dad never spoke about it, but I knew it bothered him. I knew it sat there, festering in the back of his mind. I knew because the same thing was happening to me, flashes of the gruesome scene flooded my brain, eating away at it like a cancerous brain tumour growing bigger. me having visions and nightmares brewing constantly in my mind didn't make my speaking any better. I hadn't talked to anyone— not my dad, not even Mikey who was the only person I could talk to. I stopped going to school since the event, I'm glad my dad was so understanding. But one day, he had had enough. " hey son", said my dad with a sympathetic smile as he entered my room, "how have you been?" I spared him a sad smile then looked away. He sighed and abruptly spoke "that's it. Ive had enough. Son, this isn't healthy. What you experienced... you need to talk to someone. Look how it's affecting you." I wanted to tell him no; I didn't want therapy— I didn't need it. Getting therapy would be like admitting something was wrong with me, like admitting defeat to the monstrous tumour of an event that had been eating me up.

I frantically shook my head no, but he was resilient. " I'll book you in tomorrow for a session at therapy." he said with finality. My dad walked towards the door and before leaving he said, " I miss seeing my son, I miss talking to him" he stated while looking at me with sad eyes.

I couldn't help but feel guilty. he was right. I wasn't present, and I did need help; I just didn't want to admit it.

it was a cold autumn morning, I had a warm coffee in my hand and was sitting in the lounge of the therapy place while my dad and Mikey sat next to me, being there for moral support. "The lady's going to call you in soon, okay bud?" explained my dad. I nodded in understanding and decided to observe the place to pass the time. The lounge was in neutral grayscale colours, with comfy cushion chairs— I could get used to this. there was a fun cat clock on the wall and a few of those corny motivational posters, but other than that it looked very clinical. it was mostly desolate in the lounge other than a few odd people and a peculiar boy sitting across from me. He has a cast on his arm and bruised eye with a few cuts on his face; I wondered vaguely what had happened to him and what his story was. Wait, was he at the 9/11 too? but then my train of thoughts got interrupted by the lady calling me into the therapy room. I looked over at my family, " good luck bro" said my Mikey. I smiled at him and got up to go.