Outside the 36th Street subway station, the scene of last week’s mass shooting, community leaders and neighbors in Sunset Park gathered for a vigil Monday night.

Speakers said prayers for the victims and their families, acknowledging there is still a long road to recovery for the 10 people shot, as well as for those who walked away uninjured.

Rachid Bouziri was taking the N Train to work that Tuesday morning. He was on the subway car where the suspect released canisters of smoke, then opened fire.

“When I go to sleep, that’s the problem,” said Bouziri. “During the day I can try to manage and go to park, but during the night, that tape, it doesn’t stop in my head.”

Describing that horrific tape, Bouziri says, “It’s smoke, people screaming, knocking on the windows, trying to break the windows so we could go to the next car, and the bullets going on and on and on and on.”

Terror, Bouziri says, he can’t escape.

“The distance between 59th and 36th, it takes a while to get there, and the bullets didn’t stop,” said Bouziri. “I tried to look around to see, just to see, but I couldn’t see anything.”

Minutes felt like a lifetime, Bouziri said, as he recalls laying on the subway floor on top of a woman to protect her.

“I was telling her, ‘We’ll be okay,’” Bouziri said. “But inside me, telling me, ‘This is the last moment, we’re dying.’”

Bouziri says he was prepared to die.

“When you’re in that position, you don’t think about anything else. Nothing. Not even your kids, your wife, not even your family,” Bouziri said. “The only thing you’re worried about is you’re praying, you’re dying. It’s not up to you, someone else is controlling your life. And he was planning to take it all, to take it away from us.”

When the train finally pulled into the 36th Street station, Bouziri ran out of the subway car untouched.

You can see him running in videos taken by passengers in the next car over.

“That’s when it hurt me most, when I see the guy who’s coming with his foot, and threw his body on the floor,” said Bouziri.

He hasn’t spoken with a single person in that car that day — he doesn’t know their names and says he wouldn’t recognize their faces, but he’d like to.

“To hug each one of them, we made it,” Bouziri said. And to tell them “They’re heroes, to me they’re heroes, they’re survivors.”

They are survivors of a living nightmare that Bouziri says continues to haunt him.

“I’m doing my best to move on,” he said. “How long it takes? I don’t know.”