From the Inside Out: Harrowing Escapes from the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center

by Erik O. Ronningen

The grit, held in suspension by the tumultuous physics produced by the collapse, and thick as sand in a Sahara desert windstorm, had collected around his eyelids and frozen his eyes open. After a minute or so, Erik’s already-tortured body was screaming for oxygen. Breathing, a heretofore simple routine—a natural function taken so for granted—suddenly turned into his most pressing anxiety. He opened his mouth and attempted to inhale. It felt like someone had thrown a shovel of sand into his mouth. There is no oxygen in a thick, pyroclastic-like cloud of pulverized concrete, asbestos, glass—and what not. If there is, he concluded, it isn’t getting into my lungs. His attempts to inhale resulted in a double column of impacted grit blocking all pathways through his nose. The grit—so dry that it made Death Valley dirt seem absolutely thirst-quenching—collected in all his pores and absorbed any remaining moisture, swelling his tongue and cinching his esophagus. Erik couldn’t breathe!