The little eleven year old boy stares up at the televison set in silence. As he see's the first world trade center building burn down. His name is Ethan, he is only in the sixth grade living in New York City.

Ethan's dad works on the top floor of the world trade center. He can remember him and his dad climbing up to the top to his office. The view was beautiful, it felt like you could touch the sky. Ethan didn't know which tower his dad was in, but as he saw the second tower get hit it didn't matter. He was still speechless as kids around him were crying. And he was emotionless.

Mrs. Collins, Ethans mom, came and picked him up from school around 11a.m that morning. She had the radio blasting with tears running down her face. The radio was talking about the second world trade center already collapsing. As Ethan and his mom drove him, neither one of them saying a word, he still didn't know if his dad was okay. The new radio station announced that they had found one man dead in one hour of looking.

Ethan sat on his bed thinking how weird it was, he was 11, it was September 11, he left school at 11, and somehow he blamed himself for everything that happened. He thought he had something to do with it.

It was 11 at night and Ethan was still waiting for his dad to get home. The T.V seemed to report the same thing over and over again, but with the death toll growing with every hour. Than the doorbell rang making everything seem like it had been built up to this moment. It was 11:11 and Ethan crossed his fingers and made a wish.

About eleven seconds later his mom came into his room, tears running down her face. Ethan shook his head, uncrossed his fingers and let the first tear drop. He knew that on September eleventh, at 11a.m, when he was 11 years old, and 11 seconds ago, when his mother answered the door, that his wish at 11:11p.m had not come true.