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He watched the breathtaking view of the city from London’s tallest building. Most people crave for beaches or wander to nature’s hidden paradise, but not Zak. Fifteen years ago, he vowed to climb the world’s tallest buildings, to soar the highest edifice mankind has ever built, and be engulfed by the sheer size and dominance of every structure towering above human race. This time, his stop is The Shard.

Standing thousands of feet above the ground, Zak prayed in silence. A silent prayer offered for the 3,000 innocent souls who didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, for the jihadist groups who choose death over life, and for the endless struggle between peace and war. Fifteen years ago, he was orphaned by his terrorist father. Simultaneously, he lost his life, too. For when people condemn you a terrorist in every inch, that’s not life at all.

In tears, he climbed down the building and gave it one final look. “Look, father, isn’t it marvelous to watch them, high and mighty, than to see it crumbling down?” he whispered.

“Pardon me, young man, but what day is today?” asked an elderly woman behind.

Zak answered, “It’s the 11th of September, madam.”

Word Count: 200

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt. This piece is inspired by the 9/11 World Trade Center bombing and a special book I’ve been wanting to read entitled, The Terrorist’s Son: A Story of Choice.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

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