Praying that the elevators were still working I mashed my thumb repeatedly against the button, while shouting and banging against the double doors. I placed my ear against them and heard nothing. I began to regret my decision and panic arose in my breast. More people poured forth from the workrooms and seeing the stairs blocked, had the same idea as I.
In a moment I was joined by a crowd of people all banging and trying to pry the elevator open, clawing and tearing at the slim crack between the doors. Smoke enveloped us all as we clustered together and the flames grew nearer and nearer intensifying the situation.
Finally after several agonizing moments, we managed to pull the doors apart and peer down into the shaft. We could see much to our ecstatic relief the top of the elevator slowly rising towards us from far below. I remember the hopeful cheers and cries of joy that turned out to be short-lived for some. For when the car arrived, we could not all fit and some were forced to be left behind. I remember being one of the first to board and being shoved wildly to the side to make room for others. I was fairly plastered to the poor operator who gave me a hurried glance before turning to shout for the others to hurry.
I count myself very lucky to have been on that elevator that day though there are days when I struggle with the overwhelming guilt I felt and still feel, as I remember the faces of those we had to leave behind. I still remember the sobbing pleas and the screams for us to come back for them. Not to forget them. Memories like these haunt me to this day. Could we have fit just one more? Could one more life have been saved from such a gruesome and agonizing fate? Covered in flames, as your skin melts and excrutiating pain ravages your very being, until finally your body can withstand no more.
My final memories of that nightmarish day before I woke up in a hospital bed were of traveling in the elevator struggling to breathe as a result of the smoke and the closeness of the people about me. I remember hearing screaming followed by loud thuds and the car shaking wildly about. I realized much to my horror along with all those with me that they were the sounds of people jumping down the shafts in a last ditch effort to survive the flames. Loud sobs arose inside the crowded car alongside cries of anguish and disbelief. Thud after thud after thud, until the sounds finally ceased.
The very last thing that I remember was seeing blood, dripping through the ceiling tiles of the car, raining onto all of us and trailing down the walls to pool at our feet. The blood of those who had died.
Hours later I awoke to find myself laying in a hospital bed, in intense pain. Everything was so white. The sheets, the bandages covering my arms and part of my head. The uniforms of the nurses and doctors. Everything except my clothes, darkened with soot, stained with blood, and reeking of smoke.
I turned my head away and a nurse noticed, coming over to my side.
"Do you have a name love?", she asked me softly.
In a voice hoarse from the smoke and partly from emotion I managed to swallow and croak out my name to the beautiful brunette who jotted it down on a chart.
"Would you like some water?"
I nodded and a moment later she returned with a glass filled part way. I drank thirstily and sank back against the pillows when I had finished.
"Try and get some rest Cecelia", she told me after a quick glance at her clipboard before hanging in on the end of my bed, and turning to assist someone else.
I remember not being able to rest all, I was emotionally distraught. For the first time I wondered about Abraham. Had he made it out as I had? I pleaded with the nurses to let me go home but they were adamant that I stay. Finally I had had enough waiting around. I had to find my family and Abraham. I waited until the nurses had mostly left the room and forced myself to my feet. Hobbling to the door I made out as if I was headed for the lavatory and intended on using that story if I was stopped.
But I made it through the ward and through the hallway, and after making use of a back stairwell that seemed all too eerily familiar, I pushed my way through a back door intended for the laundrywomen to use.
Once on the streets I found myself confused as to where I was but I quickly followed the smell of smoke and the crowds of curious bystanders back to the scene of the tragedy. By then the firetrucks and policemen had arrived and the fire was under control having burnt itself completely out. Even with the major tragedy averted I remember the atmosphere being indescribable with people running about everywhere calling for their loved ones, journalists and reporters taking pictures for what was to be the evening's big headline, women fainting, men weeping, and the policemen struggling to keep some semblance of order.
What made me stop however was the grisly sight of all the dead bodies littering the streets and sidewalks. Blood was everywhere. The victims lay at odd angles, their bodies broken and splattered in a mangled pulp against the concrete where they had plummeted to their deaths. Many were scorched and blackened beyond recognition. The firemen were just beginning to line them up as I arrived, giving them some semblance of dignity as their arms were folded across their chests and their legs were brought together.
Tears were on every single one of their faces. In their hands a few held the remains of what were broken safety nets that had failed. Those seemed to be struggling the most with their emotions. I remember one of the men kneeling beside a little girl's broken body and sobbing as he placed a hand on her hair such as a father would do for his daughter.
It was all too much for me and I turned abruptly, suddenly feeling once again the sense of being trapped. Shoving wildly through the throngs of people I hobbled home through the streets as quickly as I could, desperate to see my family, to let them know that I had lived.
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