9/11 Descriptive Writing

Water. This is my first thought as I slowly manage to pull my eyes open and squint against the harsh sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. My mouth feels like I’m holding a cotton ball between my teeth and I blindly reach for a water bottle on my nightstand. As I bring the bottle to my lips I nearly cry out from the splitting pain that is coming from my head. I stumble to the bathroom in search of Advil and pause when I glance at my reflection. My hair is disheveled and I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. My eyes are bloodshot and mascara coats my under eyes, my lips dry and cracked. The events of the previous night play through my mind. The pounding music that makes my head hurt just thinking about it, the stuffy basement and a

Police cars lined the street, parents rushed into the school in large groups, and the students stood on the sidewalks with stricken expressions. I approached slowly, scanning the crowd for my friends. I rushed to them as soon as I found them and was immediately bombarded with information. Elliot’s wide brown eyes were filled with worry as she filled me in. “The parents are here because they heard of the crash that happened last night!”, she said, “They’re blaming all the kids at the party and want to press charges against us for underage drinking!” I scoffed at this and told her, “Hey, nothing will happen. Do you really think they have proof?” My other friend, Reece, shook her head slowly. “No Rach,” she said, “They do have proof. Remember the photo booth? We all took pictures on Peter’s phone. They can get those and frame us!” I looked at my two best friends who were scared out of their minds and I decided I would fix this. “Guys, calm down. Those pictures don’t show us drinking, they can’t do anything with them,” I said. Reece did not look convinced. “What about my scholarship? I can’t get in trouble or I’ll lose it. I think I should go and admit to it and maybe they’ll let me off easy,” she said. I gave her a sharp look. “Seriously Reece? You think that’ll actually work? It won’t, they will take your confession and treat you like Peter”, I said. Elliot had tears in her eyes and her lower

Groups of teenagers huddled together and spoke in hushed tones, debating what to do. Teachers came into the hall and ushered us to class, emptying the halls. I sat in my first hour plotting what to do to save myself from punishment. Obviously I couldn’t delete the photos since they were already in possession of the police, but maybe I could create a different picture of that night to save myself. The principal, Mr. Downs, called an assembly immediately during morning announcements. People’s faces who were at the party drained of color and many left class and went home. Whispers floated through the hall during the seemingly long walk to the gym, “What do we do? Should we lie? Can we say we were not really