September 11th, 2001 8:45 AM - It was a sunny Tuesday morning in Jersey City, New Jersey. Business as usual in the steel mill, overlooking the majestic skyline of New York City.

High above the workers, Larry operated his crane, moving large piles of steel across the yard.

Its not unusual to see and hear a commercial jet fly above him. However, an oncoming plane was particularly loud. It was louder than most, because it was flying at a far lower altitude than the rest of the planes that pass by.

So low that Larry can actually see the faces of the passengers.

The encounter took less than a nanosecond, but it seemed so much longer. Larry made eye contact with one passenger. A very sad man with a grim countenance.

It was the face of a man who knew he was about to die.

They were the passengers of American Airlines Flight 11, and it was just seconds before that jet crossed the water, and exploded on impact into One World Trade Center.

That man’s face will haunt Larry for the rest of his life.

PREFACE: This was part of a series of true stories I compiled last year called “GROUND ZERO: THE UNTOLD STORIES“.

It’s not about the act. It’s not about the politics. It’s about the people affected by it. The events as seen through their eyes.

***** T h e * C r o s s r o a d s ********

Many of the stories you are about to hear came from actual conversations in a gas station/convenience store in Stroudsburg, PA.

A mere 60 miles from New York City, across Interstate 80, it was a place where many stopped to fill up their cars with gas, and get their morning coffee and newspapers, before starting their long commute to work.

In the summer of 2001, it was a happy place. With happy people. Many were New Yorkers who fled the crime and the cold steel for a better way of life in the Poconos years ago. Their jobs paid well, and their personalities were indelibly “New Yorkers”.. no matter where they chose to live. Full of life, sarcasm, humor, the “New Yawk” accent, and everything that goes with it.

They were in before the sun began to rise, to be greeted by cheerful workers who had fresh coffee, rolls, bagels and biscuits prepared for the “morning rush” beginning at 4AM.

A few regulars never returned after 9/11.
One can only speculate.

Those who did return were traumatized and messed up beyond description. Trying to put the unimaginable into words brought only tears from the strongest and burliest of them. Their spirit was broken, and a part of them will remain forever entombed in the rubble of the World Trade Center, or splattered on the sidewalks from a 100-story fall.

Across from the parking lot was a motel where a group of generous truckers from Indiana took a final rest stop before their trek into N.Y.C. It was also one of many places in the area where the stranded were forced to stay for the night…

Adjacent to both buildings was The Pocono Record. Amid rumors of further attacks nationwide, and the possibility that at least four states will soon be without power or communication… it began to set up as a command center to communicate to the rest of the world what was going on.

But it was in that 24 hour convenience store that the stories of triumph and tragedy were being told. It was the place where those across the nation stopped for coffee, braced themselves to enter a war zone, then returned to share their stories.

For a brief while, that place was to be known as “The Crossroads”.

PREFACE: This was part of a series of true stories I compiled last year called “GROUND ZERO: THE UNTOLD STORIES“.

It’s not about the act. It’s not about the politics. It’s about the people affected by it. The events as seen through their eyes.

It’s still merely a .txt file in my hard drive. After the media basically ran September 11th to the ground (as I suspect they’ll do again in the next few weeks…) I felt people didn’t need this.

I also worried how people would take this particular story as there is more than enough real-life tragedy of the attacks in N.Y.C. and D.C. to fill a thousand lifetimes.

The following story is grim and horrific. Those easily upset may want to skip it.

It’s the “fictional” story of a woman buried alive when the towers collapsed. The sights, the sounds… the terror.

I put “fictional” in quotes… because I sometimes wonder, given my connection with the other side. I wrote this in Mid-October 2001… when the screams of the long-dead still haunted my dreams. I was possessed. My fingers couldn’t stop writing.

When I finished, a woman’s voice whispered “thank you” behind me.
I didn’t bother to turn around. I knew I wouldn’t see anyone.

I feel it’s time for her story to be told….
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