Under the Gray Skies

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The flesh on her right hand and wrist was discolored, hard and cold as it extended out from the wall of wreckage. It was all that remained of my sister. All that I could see. I held on to that hand for days, just holding it, crying, until I could no longer hold her hand because the flesh would rot off against my own fingers.

How I survived was a mystery. There had been no moment of regret, no sudden fear, no final thoughts screaming in my mind, “This is it. I’m going to die.”

There was however, complete astonishment when I opened my eyes and was still alive.

I woke to find my average size female body curled in a fetal position in a space no bigger than four by four feet. My own tiny box. It was pure luck the way things crumbled around me. I was the fortunate one, trapped in some sort of air pocket haven that had formed from the end section of the airport tram car.

My sister and the dozens that were around me weren’t so lucky.

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