I am have just finished reading an article in the Observer (from the NYT) about what happened inside the Twin Towers on the 11th of September. I admit it, I cried when I read it.

I haven't really ever articulated my thoughts and feelings about that day here on my blog. I remember watching live as the second plane hit. I remember the newsreaders on the BBC in complete shock, unable to comprehend what they had just seen. I remember thinking "How must those passengers have felt? Flying low over the harbour, towards death."

But the thing that gets me are the phone calls and emails. Those people trapped above the flames in the North towers, completely unable to escape. Doris the manager of Windows on the World, and her staff phoning for help as they tried to evacuate their customers. Mr. Rooney who phoned his wife from the top floor of the South Tower to tell her the doors to the roof were locked, and then she heard the explosion that would consume her husband who sat alone in a dark and smokey room by a locked door telling his wife, who he had meet at 16 and was still with at 50, he loved her while the tower literally collapsed around him.

Imagine it. You had gone to work as normal. You are chatting with you mates about the night before, smiling, joking. The next minute the world is dark, your friends are not only dead, but completely unrecognisable. And you are trapped above a fire far beyond the reach of help. People call for help from the darkness. How would you feel? You are just Joe Bloggs and this is New York. Things like this just don't happen, you tell yourself. But they did.

If they ever do find Osama alive I hope they force him to read every story, listen to every phone message, see every email, and watch every wedding/birthday video ever taken of his victims. Over and over again until he cries. And then maybe he might understand that his beloved Allah will not be happy with him either.