8:36am

My mind wandering, my eyes drift to my colleague’s shirt:

Black blouse buttoned all the way up.

Black has always been my favorite color.

Black is the sum of all colors, but it is also the absence of color.

Black is as loud as roaring thunder, while remaining silent.

Black is a chaotic terror, but I find peace in that.

A muffled voice startles me back to reality.

“Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“Of course! I was thinking the same thing!”

I respond enthusiastically, as if to seem I was paying attention,

Hoping to God that it would get him off my back,

Reverting everyone’s attention back to the meeting.

I return to my daydream, my eyes inattentively scanning the room,

Being drawn in by windows that stretch from floor to ceiling:

The South Tower blocking my view from the bustle that is the city.

Six hundred thousand square feet of glass,

And my view that could have overlooked

One hundred twelve stories before reaching the ground

Has been stolen by the South Tower.

8:46am

Deafening collapse.

Shattered glass.

Thick smoke rising.

BREAKING NEWS:

A plane has crashed into the North Tower of

The World Trade Center.

I gasp for life, only to be filled by the big black smoke.

Black is everything at once.

Black is nothing at all.