Originally Posted by
B. Laumness
I was twenty years, far from home, in the South of France, at the harvest of the grapes. At the end of the labor, the proprietor came to us and said the US had been attacked, that a part of New York had been destroyed, and that there could be millions of victims. “Attacked by who? – We are not sure. Probably the Arabs.” It was unbelievable. I was shocked, horrified. We said it was the beginning of WW3. Then I called my parents, who explained to me the situation, the crash of the planes, the apocalyptic atmosphere in New York. After the dinner, I asked the proprietor to buy the newspapers (he had the TV but we were not allowed to watch it), and, the following days, I could follow the events. Then the life went on… At least the other guys and girls did not talk much about it. Ten days later, back to home, I could eventually see the images at the television.
Sunday, I heard Kevin Cosgrove’s last call. It made me cry. During the night I dreamed of accidents and big holes. Monday, I woke up with his final scream in my ears.