Timothy McVeigh, the terrorist and mass murderer who was responsible for the deadliest domestic terrorist attack in the United States that killed 168 people on April 19, 1995.
A royal blue dress, solid red dress, solid yellow dress, black dress, white dress, and two paisley dresses filled my sight as I glanced around at the managers crammed into my office, sitting in the dull brown chairs that surrounded my desk. They were intently waiting for me to discuss the next item that I planned to mention. I could hear the clicking, clattering, and chattering of the employees as they prepared for the day ahead. I loved my job as the head of the Federal Employees Credit Union at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City and had looked forward …show more content…
No response. Just a dead, eerie silence. All alone, no life in sight. As I move around on carpet... it feels like there isn’t anything. I glance down at what used to be the carpet, and I’m startled to realize that I’m clinging to a concrete ledge. Why can see the striking sunlight, flooding in from where the walls and ceilings that mold the building together are? What happened? Was it a gas explosion? Am I going to be able to see another day? Am I the only survivor?
Six agonizing hours, trapped, and steadily gripping the concrete for dear life. My imagination went wild, speculating many different scenarios. I rejoiced as a fireman lent his hand to me, led me to his shiny white ladder and I descended down to safety.
When I finally reached the ground, I swiveled my head up towards the building, and gasped. Piles of ash, dust, and glass are spilling out from where the windows and walls used to be. Glancing down at my hands, I see blood oozing out from the cuts littered through my hands. Survivors staggered from the ruins of the Murrah Building, some half-naked because shoes and clothing had been ripped off. Their wounds were evident and they were bleeding either because of cuts or through walking over glass. Hundreds of people were running outside, screaming as they burned to death or tried to cope with the pieces of glass embedded in their faces and hands. No words are spoken between families as they reunite, tears streaming down their faces, overwhelmed with joy. Unfortunately, others are crestfallen, attempting to understand why their mother, daughter, son, sister, brother, or father had to
A royal blue dress, solid red dress, solid yellow dress, black dress, white dress, and two paisley dresses filled my sight as I glanced around at the managers crammed into my office, sitting in the dull brown chairs that surrounded my desk. They were intently waiting for me to discuss the next item that I planned to mention. I could hear the clicking, clattering, and chattering of the employees as they prepared for the day ahead. I loved my job as the head of the Federal Employees Credit Union at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City and had looked forward …show more content…
No response. Just a dead, eerie silence. All alone, no life in sight. As I move around on carpet... it feels like there isn’t anything. I glance down at what used to be the carpet, and I’m startled to realize that I’m clinging to a concrete ledge. Why can see the striking sunlight, flooding in from where the walls and ceilings that mold the building together are? What happened? Was it a gas explosion? Am I going to be able to see another day? Am I the only survivor?
Six agonizing hours, trapped, and steadily gripping the concrete for dear life. My imagination went wild, speculating many different scenarios. I rejoiced as a fireman lent his hand to me, led me to his shiny white ladder and I descended down to safety.
When I finally reached the ground, I swiveled my head up towards the building, and gasped. Piles of ash, dust, and glass are spilling out from where the windows and walls used to be. Glancing down at my hands, I see blood oozing out from the cuts littered through my hands. Survivors staggered from the ruins of the Murrah Building, some half-naked because shoes and clothing had been ripped off. Their wounds were evident and they were bleeding either because of cuts or through walking over glass. Hundreds of people were running outside, screaming as they burned to death or tried to cope with the pieces of glass embedded in their faces and hands. No words are spoken between families as they reunite, tears streaming down their faces, overwhelmed with joy. Unfortunately, others are crestfallen, attempting to understand why their mother, daughter, son, sister, brother, or father had to