I stand by the debris of the fallen towers. My ears are ringing, I am devastated. Sirens blaring, people screaming, and me, standing there hopeless. I collapsed onto the pavement coughing and coughing, I cannot breathe. Dust all over my face, in my nose, my mouth. The world around me slowly starts to fade away. I awaken in an ambulance, all wired up. I go to wipe my eyes and pull back my hand to see it stained with blood. I am one of the first responders, now being driven away by my colleagues. I was having a cup of coffee at the firehouse, on a beautiful sunny day when we got the call. All firefighters, ambulances and police stations were ordered to clear out and rush down to lower manhattan. The small tv we have in the firehouse was on and every news station was reporting that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. Surely it was an accident and we were racing down there to help save people trapped inside. When we pulled up at the scene, however, that's when the second plane hit. The earth stopped spinning, everyone froze, and time was moving in slow motion. A loud boom echoed across New York, and thousands of papers went up in the air, coming down like snowflakes. Instinctively, my crew and I rushed in ordering people to evacuate. Hundreds of people ran out screaming, as I sprinted up the marble stairs. The higher up I got, the harder it became to breathe. Thick black smoke floated in the air. I picked up a crying woman sitting hopeless by the staircase, she was bloody and her leg was broken. Up and down I went retrieving more and more people. I was helping a man down the stairs when I heard a crack, and the ground shake. The building was coming down. Luckily the entrance was a few feet away and I was able to escape. There was a thunderous boom from above, as I saw the first tower crumble. I braced myself and closed my eyes. I wake up in a pile of debris. The second tower had just fallen with it. I wipe off my face and crumble to the ground in tears. This is the darkest day in America.