I pushed myself harder; wind whipped at my body-chilling my exposed skin. Tears worked their way down my face, my chapped lips parted ever so slightly as I raggedly inhaled and exhaled. Pain shot through my chest, and it brought me to my knees. This was it, this was the end, and I knew it.
His image filled my mind, and I held onto it with every fiber of my being. It brought me warmth, even for the most fleeting of moments. But as quick as it came, it was gone and I was left with nothing but searing pain. It coursed through my veins like a live wire-charring me from the inside out.
He broke his promise, and I broke mine. We were meant to be, I knew that for a fact. Why did he leave me? I knew the type of life he wanted. I knew everything about him. I could tell you what made him tick, but I also could recite his favorite color, his favorite song, and even his favorite ice cream flavor.
We always just clicked, even when we were younger-we somehow knew we would end up together. But when he joined the army two years ago, and was shipped out to serve our country-he knew that would be our breaking point. He promised me that he would return and we could resume our relationship.
But he also knew that I could not, I would not, live without him. He was my safety blanket, and he left me when I needed him the most. But just like I knew, he knew that when he boarded that plane… it was the end. Things would change, he would change, and I would change. We would grow up.
I love you. I love you oh so much. Snow fell from the heavens above, and I managed to merely pull my thin sweater closer to my body. But I did not turn back and head home. Putting one foot in front of the other, I ventured farther into the trees that surrounded the outskirts of our small town.
The town where I was born, the town where I was raised, the town where I met my best friend, the town where I discovered love, and the town where I had my heart ripped from my chest. My breathing, at this point was coming in savage gasps and pants-my airways were closing from the cold, my body was freezing.
I need you. Why’d you leave me? I need you… Energy seemed to drain from my body, escaping through my pores and leaving me with nothing. Curling into a tight ball, I pressed my body up against one of numerous trees. Snow continued to fall, heavier by this point. Two feet already covered the ground.
Black dots began to swarm before my rolling eyes, my parched blue tinged lips curled upwards faintly in a peaceful smile. Tremors wracked through my body, yet a strange warmth rushed through my veins and I welcomed it with open arms. My eyes drifted close… for the last time. One final breath whispered from my lips.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you.

Crimson ribbons ripple and fall from a young girl’s blonde ponytail.
She bounds down the road aimlessly, her cherub face alight with joy.
Twisting and twirling every which way in a carefree manner, a giggle escapes.
Her white summer dress flows about her knees, little lady bugs dancing across the hemline.
A pure angel for all to admire-she’s an image of perfection, even at a mere seven in age.
Rosebud lips part and a squeal breaks free, her brilliant blue eyes gleam with excitement.
The sun is setting, it casts its soft orange glow upon the young one-bathing her in dim light.
But she does not falter, she twirls with her head tilted back, taking in the softly illuminated sky.
A picture meant for a hallmark card, she moves with beauty and grace, her small arms outstretched.
The sun begins to disappear beneath the horizon, and it’s only then that she realizes the time.
A small pang of fear works its way around in her stomach before climbing up to her chest and throat.
A sound breaks the silence, and she turns-her eyes wide now with fear and panic.
She doesn’t recall where she is or which direction to turn-terror courses through her narrowing veins.
“Momma…” her tiny voice rumbles out, sweet and smooth-like the best of honey.
The sound comes again; this time from behind her, as she begins to turn an ivory hand seizes her arm.
A cry comes from her parted lips, squeaking out along with her short gasping pants.
Lips meet her neck, teeth pierce into her jugular-she’s drained within a split second, and her body falls.
A red-eyed creature stands above the fallen angel, nothing showing amongst his alabaster face.
Blood matching the young girl’s ribbons drips from his lips and down his chin-the last of her essence.
He turns just as the street lights fade, there’s nothing in the sky-no moon, no stars, nothing.
The once thriving child is nothing but a corpse, left in a blanket of ebony.
Waiting for one to find her when light breaks the darkness.

I remember September 11, 2009, the day our nation was attacked by al-Qaeda terrorists. Four planes were hijacked with the intention of crashing into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the White House. Two of the planes crashed into the Twin Towers leaving no survivors. The third airliner crashed into the Pentagon also leaving no survivors. The fourth airplane was supposed to fly into the White House, but was unsuccessful and landed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Some brave passengers and flight crew members attempted to retake control of the plane, and in the process saved hundreds of lives, but at the cost of their own. They were everyday people who turned out to be heroes. I remember September 11, 2009. I remember the 2,993 people that died that day. I remember the terrifying fear that spread throughout all of America, but I never felt it. I never felt any of it. I was young and naïve. I didn’t know anyone that died that day. I didn’t have to feel the loss. I could pretend that a war wasn’t going on. It was easy to act like people weren’t dying. I was among the lucky ones. The few.

He flew across the pavement, dodging the cracks which no boy his age dared to step on. He was superman now; the symbol was stuck to his tummy, on his pyjama top, his costume. His shorts were brown, a sensible colour chosen by his mother to avoid the inevitable stains they came across. Stripy socks stretched out of his flashing trainers which were wearing out with each enthusiastic step he took. He took another flying leap over a crack and was caught by his mother, “Nate!” She glanced at him sternly “I need to buy your school clothes and you are not making the process any easier.” Nate grabbed tightly onto his mothers hand and plodded after her into the crowded shop.

“Now,” his mother began as they got the rail of clothing, “I know you haven’t thought about this much, but your first day of school is next week and that means the pyjama top comes off.”

“Mummy, you don’t understand,” he informed her, “I can’t be superman without my costume.”

“I know, but now you get to play the grown up school boy instead.” She walked to the fitting rooms with Nate still clinging to her hand and a white shirt and sharp black trouser in tow.

Nate slumped onto the chair and waited while his mother took the clothes off the hangers. He did not understand why she was always in a rush as they were no in a hurry. But this was how his mother always was, rushing with everything; he always assumed that was why she was constantly so tired. As he pulled the shirt over his arms it reminded him of getting into a cold bath, instantly wanting to get out as the crisp cold stiffened your body, but knowing it had to be done.

His mother buttoned up his shirt and when she finished cupped her hands around his face. His cheeks were so fresh and young, but burned in her cold hands. She ran her dry fingers through his hair, which was in desperate need of a cut, and watched it bounce perfectly back into place. His eyes gave her a questioning look; he was so inquisitive and eager, something she wished she could learn from her four year old son.

“Now there’s a big boy, I hardly recognised you.” She said as she finished tucking his shirt in.

“Mummy, I want to go, I don’t like these clothes and I don’t like school.”

“Don’t be silly Nate.” She said irritably, “All boys want to be grown up.”

“I don’t, I want to be superman.” He glanced out the fitting room door and ran instinctively. Away from his mother and the hand that guided him through the shopping centre. The cold floor slapped his feet and his legs lagged as the oversized clothes weighed him down. He turned his head sharply searching the space around him for his mother, his heart bounced out of his chest as his hands became clammy and he dropped to the floor knowing he was lost. Avoiding the eye contact of anyone around him as he fought the oncoming tearing welling in his eyes, he crawled into the corner of the shop sheltered by racks of clothing.

He waited with tucked his knees up to his chin, and pictured himself in his bedroom at home, knowing his mother was in the next room, having the feeling of safety without even knowing it. As the general buzz of the shop began to fade back into his conscious, he opened his eyes to the other people around him. He watched a woman pass by and looked up at her not knowing who she was. As he thought about it more closely he realised she did not know who he was either. She had not sat on the comfiest sofa in his lounge, tried his mother’s hot chocolate or waited hours for his superman top to come out of the wash. Comparing himself to her, he realised the she had a life which did not involve him. His eyes widened and he watched her more closely, she walked slowly, browsing the clothes and allowing the heels on her shoes to tap rhythmically against the floor. Her polished nails wrapped the strap of her bag which was held closely to her side. She held her chin high in the air although she was already taller than most, and twitching her mouth every so often as she put back items of clothing. She hardly seemed to notice as she crossed another man’s path. He stumbled around her letting his bag play loosely with his oversized coat. His thick framed glasses sat lop sided on his nose, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he got out a dog eared piece of paper and headed back off in the opposite direction.

The tears dried off his cheeks and he pushed himself off the floor, as he got up a crease formed between his eyebrows as he looked around. He did not feel so lost any more, watching people around him made him feel safer, almost as if he knew them. He let his feet cushion each step, pushing him upwards and making him feel stronger as he searched for his mother. But nothing around him seemed familiar yet, he had not thought about anything but his superman pyjama top and his mother earlier.

Only now did he remember his mother telling him to stay where he was when he got lost. So he stood firmly on the spot and called her name as clearly as he could. He hoped she would be proud of him for doing what she told him. A sick longing to please and impress her swept through his body. Nervousness poured into his tummy to form an unpleasant feeling of adrenaline and drive to spur him on. Just as his hands started to return to a clammy, panicked state the familiar face appeared in the aisle. She stood still with new wrinkles appearing on her face, blossoming around her mouth and eyes. He rushed towards her and threw himself into her desperate arms. A blanket on her perfume folded around him, filling his tummy with feeling he had never felt before, something he would associate with his mother, the feeling of relief. He lifted his head away from her neck and she pressed her lips hard against his forehead. His mother’s scrawny mouse brown hair was tied back roughly out of her face and the remains of yesterdays make up were still etched in her face. She was wearing her garden shoes still with pieces of wet grass stuck on which clashed dramatically with the faded twenty year old trousers. But she did not feel embarrassed and worried about how age had changed her, because as she looked at her son she knew that in his eyes, she was perfect as she was.

“Mummy I’m so glad you found me,” he whispered gently.

“Me too Nate,” she murmured simply back in his ear. She got up and allowed him to lock his hand in hers. She remembered the pyjama top clenched in her unconscious hand. He surprised her as he did not mention it on the walk back to fitting rooms. Instead of instinctively throwing himself in boredom, for the first time he looked at himself in the mirror. He gazed at his appearance with the new clothes on and saw himself as his dad.

“Mummy, do I look like Daddy in these clothes?”

“Yes, I guess you do look like Daddy’s little boy.” She replied barely glancing at him.

“Mummy I’m not a little boy any more, look how old I look.” He smiled smugly at himself, barely noticing the superman top being tugged back on over his head. When his mother finally managed to get the pyjama top on she placed her hands on his delicate body, and slowly breathed out as she realised he could not stay like this for much longer.