I'm going to be able to live. Oh, The cabin lights dim and the low mechanical hum of the engine feels too loud, too close as you

grip the worn away armrests. The seat belt digs into your

waist, your heart racing, pulse thudting in your ears. Every movement around you is

amplified. The overhead bins knocking around, the flight attendance forced smiles, the man in the

aisle seat shifting around nervously.

You notice another man across the aisle who shifts in his seat, muttering under his breath.

His eyes keep darting to the front of the plane with the flight attendants

are busy with their carts. Every few minutes he checks his watch, fidgeting more

with each glance. Your heart pounds harder the nagging feeling born in your gut growing stronger with every

racing anxious thought your mind can conjure.

Something's not right, you know it.

You feel it in the pit of your stomach like a lead weight. The plane suddenly jolts forward.

Your heart feels near to cardiac arrest until the voice of the captain declares a safe landing.

You look outside the window to see you're taxiing off the runway.

The seat belt sign dings off the passenger stir stretching and chatting as if everything is fine.

It's not until you walk off the plane that you see the crowd gathered around the TV's in the terminal.

Every screen shows the same image. The World Trade Center, with fire tearing through the sky.

The headline reads,

Playing Crashes into World Trade Center, America Under Attack.

You weren't on that plane.

You didn't survive the disaster. You were just late to it.

But you're not late to the Red Thread,

...