End of DayA Story by Will Neill Samuel A Millar begins a new job, but his first day nearly becomes his last. End of Day A Short Story by Will Neill
I had a dream. Not a ni not a nightmare, it didn’t actually scare me as such but more left me with an emptiness feeling ii in the pit of my stomach I sp I spoke to Rosemary about it on the way to work; we shared a cab. My My name is Samuel A. Millar and I’m 21 years old. I su I suppose in order for you to understand my story I need to go back a few weeks. * Mum burst into my bedroom displaying all the persona of a madwoman, she was screaming, laughing and crying in one unremitting outburst as only women can do. Her hands above her head clasping a brown manila envelope. ‘Sam get up, it’s arrived’. I stirred from my prone position and tried to pry my face from my pillow. ‘Look Sam, it’s even got their official logo on it’, I admired Mum’s enthusiasm, she came round and thrust it in my face ‘aren’t you excited Sam? You’ve been waiting quite a while for this, come on open it son’.
From behind my sleep filled eyes I was already reading the letter, I knew its contents off by heart, This would be my sixth job rejection in as many months. None the less I began to feel the prickling of raised hairs on my arms and an ache of tenseness, the room was still with an ambiance of anticipation and I could sense Mum’s eagerness willing me to open the correspondence. For a moment I lingered on the envelope’s window, transfixed by my name sealed behind its cellophane pane. Destiny or disappointment sealed within. Mum sat on the bed her bent finger between her teeth her eyes constantly shifting from the letter then to me, ‘Come on Sam, open it, it won’t matter if it’s the same as before’. With a wry smile I ran my finger under the lip and forced it along the paper’s edge then tenderly unfolded the crisp white documents. As my eyes scanned the page unusual words floated upwards, phrases like-{we are happy} and {you’ve been successful}.
Slowly I lifted my head and let my eyes fall on hers, she removed her finger but still her mouth lay open. ‘I got it Mum, they’ve offered me the job’, I said quietly, the consequences of this revelation sent my Mother off onto her mad women personality once again. That night was the first time I had the dream. It was as if I was looking at my self from behind, through anther’s eyes, my body silhouetted against a setting sun, a sun so bright -yellow and orange unified into raging fire ball. I could see it racing towards me on a shimmering metallic horizon, I could feel its heat on my face, even in my dream I was aware of a fetid smell and a sensation of falling - a terrifying fragmented visualization.
I always woke up before hitting the ground, and by the middle of the day my dream had been lost in the daily mist of an ordinary life. On and off for three weeks it came, always the same. I talked to Mum about it but she dismissed it instantly telling me I would be much better channeling my energy into apartment hunting than worrying about some silly dream. But always it lingered leaving me with goose bumps and anxiety. The new job was to take me far from home and out of the security of my family for first time in my life. But I was excited and eager
I spent the remaining two weeks of August doing exactly what Mum suggested, scouring New York’s local papers for suitable dwellings close to the neighborhood of my new job’s locality.
I ringed each I found with red pen and compiled a list in a small note book with the addresses and phone numbers. It was on our second trip to the Big Apple, and my third from last listed residence that Mum and I bumped into Rosemary, she was checking her mail in the hallway as we entered. Rosemary and I looked about the same age.
As we passed she lifted her head and smiled. ‘Hi’ she said softly her voice echoing upwards through the stairwell ‘you’re here to see apartment 3b right?’
‘How did you know?’ Mum responded immediately. ‘Oh a wild guess, and the fact you look like Out of Towners’ she laughed.
I surveyed myself from head to toe in a single glance’ that obvious huh!’ ‘Fraid so’ she quipped back. ‘My name’s Rosemary, Rosemary Mullen I live in 3a’ ‘Samuel A Millar, and this is my Mum Dianne’ I replied trying to sound confident. She shook our hands in turn before opening the heavy oak door, her body melted into the midmorning sun as she lingered in the doorways casement. ‘Maybe we’ll be neighbors Samuel A Millar’ and with that she breezed out into the street. I’d found my first friend.
The apartment was perfect and so was its location to my new post, ten minutes by yellow cab and two minutes walk from its drop off point. I had ten days to move and get settled before starting my job on the 11th.
Mum fussed a lot during the move and cried when she left me on my first night alone in my new abode, but over the days that followed Rosemary and I became firm friends. All my feelings of apprehension were lost on the carousel of Rosemary’s company. We dined together and shared the history of each others back ground, we had common interests in music and work. We even managed to fit in a mini tour of the city taking in all the must see usual sites; it was as if I’d known her all my life. I knew I was slowly falling in love.
Rosemary came from Ireland, her family had moved to New York in the mid nineties because of the political situation that ravished the North ‘The Troubles’ she called it in her wonderful Irish brogue, she kept me transfixed with her endless stories of murder and bombings. But she also made sure I knew about the breathtaking countryside and spectacular mountains that contrasted the plight she described with great sorrow.
At the end of each account she’d throw back her head and laugh to defuse the sadness that entwined it, her flaming red hair swirling behind her and her meadow green eyes shining with reflective light. The evening before I was due to start my new job was also the night we shared our first kiss, and the night the dream returned. Its vividness was overwhelming, the sounds and smells more powerful than in any before. I woke in a cold sweat, my own scream still reverberating off the walls in my bedroom.
The following morning I felt edgy and nauseous but put it down to a restless night brought on by a presiding career in the world of big business. Rosemary banged on my door dead on 7.30 am as promised. ‘Hurry up Sam’ her voice sounded barely audible from the hallway ‘rush hour starts soon’. I grabbed my coat and met her on the landing, after two stepping down the stairs holding hands and laughing we burst out into the September morning sunshine. We skipped teasingly to the corner of west 43rd street and hailed a passing cab.
The driver looked greaser than my last hot dog, it was hard to tell which port he’d sailed from his accent was certainly not from New York. I certainly didn’t expect a conversation from him on our way to our destination, and that suited me fine. I wanted to tell Rosemary about the dream. ‘World Trade Center Liberty Plaza please’ Rosemary instructed him. ‘Lower Manhattan’ And with a silent nod we were off.
Compared to the driver the cab was surprisingly clean, a hint of pine cones lingered unexpectedly. ‘I’ve something to tell you’ I began and for a moment she looked worried, But as I continued describing my dream I felt her unease fade, soon her frown turned to a smile. ‘It’s just a silly dream Sam’ she laughed ‘It’s nothing, forget it’ by the time we’d reached Lafayette Street both of us were giggling like school children, and I banished my delusion to the basement of my mind. When the taxi stopped Rosemary paid the fare and we headed hurriedly to the North Tower entrance. My employer was a small company occupying the West end of the 93rd floor; my mouth was dry as we wandered through the lobby. When we entered the elevator butterflies swarmed my stomach. I noticed the digital clock on the control panel read 8.05am in luminous green print. ‘Are you nervous?’ Rosemary whispered as she selected our levels in turn. I was tentative of my emotions. ‘I’m fine’ I lied. The turbo lift sped us swiftly upwards, I felt my stomach trying desperately to catch up. Second pasted, then an electronic voice confirmed the floor and announced the doors were opening. Rosemary squeezed my hand and stepped out then blew me a kiss before they closed again. That was the last time I saw her. The first plane hit at exactly 8.46am between the 94th and 98th floors, I had been in my job for 41mins. Rosemary worked on the 96th. I felt the building sway with the force of the impact, and then the windows blew out - I woke up behind a desk covered in dust, blood and aviation fuel, it was dripping down between the cracks in the upper floor - most of the ceiling was gone. I recognized its smell it was same as my dream. Parts of the office were ablaze filling the air with choking black smoke that was being fed by the thunderous wind that was being sucked in through the shattered windows.
The same windows were acting as a vent extracting the oxygen- out in to the morning sunshine, in one corner I could see the outline of bodies being consumed by the now raging firestorm. Most of which were my recent work colleagues. Corpse’s littered the floor some with legs or arms missing, blood bubbled in the grey carpet like cherry jam on a hot hob. I tried to stand but my eyesight was blurred and I felt disoriented. At 9.02 am I watched with horror as the second plane struck the South Tower only then did I realize the devastation that had occurred above me.
My thoughts moved to Rosemary, I knew she was gone. . From the floors above a tempest of papers floated downwards some slightly burned around their edges others leaving ash trails as the updraft carried them higher - every now and then a body fell by silently. Those that had chosen to jump rather than burn - I guess they had made their peace with god then left their fate in his hands. Could I make that choice?
The decision was instantly taken from me as quickly as the thought itself, I was grabbed from behind and pulled towards the exit doors - those saintly hands guided me through the smolder and flames, finaly I passed out. Perhaps this guardian angel was sent from heaven to watch over my well being - I can’t remember much after that. For when I awoke I was on a stretcher my face and nose covered with an oxygen mask looking up at an ambulance ceiling, I pulled away my visor and glanced to my right, a medic sat swaying in his seat as the vehicle thundered through the streets ‘The Towers’ I coughed. ‘They hit the Towers’
The medic leaned forward and replaced my mask ‘don’t speak now buddy’ he smiled ‘you need to rest- your going to be okay - looks like you got out just in time kid both Towers collapsed. We found you lying in the street thought you were a jumper until my partner saw you move, you’re real lucky son looks like some one up there was looking down on you’. I never found out who was my savior. At the end of that day there was no nightmare, all was left there was a hole in the twilight sky and an emptiness in my heart. I’m home again now. Perhaps some day I’ll dream again---but not yet In memory of all those who perished in the twin towers on September 11th 2001 Will Neill.
© 2013 Will NeillAuthor's Note
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Will Neillbelfast, United KingdomAboutWill Neill is an award winning Irish author, poet and amateur musician; Born in Belfast in the late fifties. Will has established himself as a prolific writer all over the world for both his prose and.. more..Writing
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