Then a thick burning smell filled the air.When I opened the front door of our flat to investigate,a thick cloud of smoke,billowing up from the ground floor,greeted me.The motorcycle shop had caught fire.
My mum,who had been working in the kitchen,hurried to the living room.We rushed out of the door and along the corridor through the smoke.
We were heading towards the stairway at the far end of the corridor when Mum stopped in her tracks.She turned around and headed back the way we came.I had no idea what she was doing,but I followed suit.
Mum had suddenly remembered the Korean lady in her 70s who lived next door to us,who we called Makcik.Mum began banging on Makcik's door,but to no avail.As the smoke thickened around us,I could see many of our neighbors—some still in their pyjamas—running for safety.
“She would have run for safety like everyone else!”I cried.
d to give up.“I know Makcik's still inside,”she said as she pounded the door.“Go downstairs,Shaji.Go now!”
were probably there for only two or three minutes.
Just as I was beginning to suffocate(窒息) to a safe spot where people had gathered to witness the fire.
The firemen had just arrived and set about fighting the blaze,which was reaching up to the two floors above the motorcycle shop.
Comprehending the gravity of the situation,Makcik broke down.Holding my mother's hands tightly,and with tears flowing down her cheeks,she spoke to Mum.I could not hear what she said,but there was no mistaking her gratitude.I learned later that Makcik was sleeping when the fire broke out.
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