If I were to draw myself, I would have drawn a scarecrow who was a friend of Dorothy in the book ‘The Wizard of Oz’. Fire was the only thing I was afraid of; the thought of being burnt to cinders was enough to send shivers down my spine. People call it a phobia of fire, but to me, it is the battle with my enemy.
The wrath of the orange globe bore down of us. There was enough of heat on my head to fry an egg. Sweat glistened on my eyebrows as my mother dragged me along the pavement to the shopping centre where she conducted her weekly shopping extravaganza. I regretted stepping into the heat and being fried alive by following my mother to shop.
However the bitterness and regret in my heart evaporated as soon as I stepped into the mall. The cool blast of the shopping centre made me feel as if I was residing in heaven. My gusto regained, my mother and I weaved in and out of the frenzied shoppers to the supermarket.
The noise was overwhelming. Throngs of shoppers strode down the aisles jostling each other so as to get a chance to lay their hands on the goods first. My mother was no better. She elbowed anyone that dared came near, picked up the goods that she wanted, and went to pay for the goods.
We joined the end of the serpentine line of shoppers queuing up to pay for their goods. Suddenly, the alarm bell rang. Everyone froze. “There is a fire at the left wing. Everyone is requested to evacuate at once!” the speakers screamed. Everyone unfroze. The screams began.
Fear crept on to me, freezing my mind and limbs. The vision of flames engulfing me flashed before my eyes. ‘There is a fire,’ I thought.
My mother grabbed my hand. The wave of shoppers was upon us like a tidal wave, each wanting to be the first to reach the exit. We sprinted at the speed that could shame an Olympian. My mother was pale and quiet. Worry was etched over her face. I stared at my mother incredulously, oblivious to my surroundings. Then, someone pushed me. I lost my balance and fell. My world tilted sideways as I fell and my head hit the hard marble floor. The noise and sights blurred. The last sound I heard was my mother screaming. Then silence, and infinite darkness.
My world spun when I came to, my mind a confused buzz. However, the whiff of smoke was enough to jolt me out of oblivion. Fire!
My mind had snapped its moorings, and it was there, spinning in my mind. It took a moment to register what my eyes saw. Flames engulfed me, viciously eating up space between me and them. I was in my enemy’s territory; there was no way that I couold escape. Desperation washed over me, but then came the anger that burned hotter than the flames. How can I let my enemy be victorious? I must fight for my right to live!
I noticed a fire extinguisher on the wall beside me. I grabbed it as if it were a precious baby and sprayed carbon dioxide on the flames. The flames spluttered and died. I ran to safety, the fire extinguisher as my weapon.
The door of the shopping centre swung open, and I stepped outside. The crowd congregated outside the shopping centre gawked at me.
I must have looked a horrible sight. My shirt and hair were charred, blisters ran all over my hands and feet. My mother, oblivious to all this, rushed up. “baby, I am so glad that you are alive,” she said, and hugged me.
Pride rose in my heart, warming me from head to toe. I did it. I was alive. The day’s events weighed down on me. I collapsed onto strong hands and lay down to a self-healing sleep.