9/11

Once the time engine was charged, I went back to the subway platform under the towers and looked for my parents.
They were trapped in the rubble, broken gas lines breathing fire all around, but I worked feverishly to free them.
Too much concrete. Too much metal.
Looking at my bloody hands, I realize I should have brought gloves.
The fire was coming closer, and they told me to leave them.
I held their hands for as long as I could, and I left them photos of their grandchildren before heading back to the engine.
We do this every year.