Third Blog: Too old to die young

It felt strange. The walkway to schools, the houses and homes before it, the surroundings and the people all around. The air was motionless but when I opened my mouth, I felt a chill, like the chill when my lips and unguarded tongue makes contact with ice cold water.

The town was a very peaceful place, if you mind the riots. But what people don't see is the love that's found in west London.

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I was hiding behind an office table, my hands were covering my ears, every inch of it covered. I turned my head around to see a few of my fellow workers doing the same thing. No one was hurt or injured but we were scared that it might get worst. The bombings were quite frequent, they were around three to five minutes apart and I was scared as hell. The first few bombings got us stuck in the office building as the exits were all blocked by the rubbles.

We were all in the sixth floor. Windows were shattered and glasses and other office equipments were on the floor. A fellow worker of mine lead us to the pantry, which was further into the floor space. There was food there, drinks for our thirst but no escape. We all waited there, checking if everyone was safe and if anyone was missing or injured, fortunately no one was dead.

We all couldn't take it. The situation was bad enough but enduring it was torture. All of us didn't know why help wasn't on the way. Half and hour, having rubbles in our sight and heat boiling in our faces was painful enough. We had to crawl to get from one place to another.

Double checking every exit there is, we found one. However the exit door was jammed but it had a small opening. The rubble on the other side was probably blocking our sweet escape. The opening was only 2 inches, I could only fit half of my palm in.

We pushed as hard as we could, the guys using their strength, even some of the ladies too. The door budged bit by bit. The opening now was about 12 inches, and it could only fit a few people inside, mostly the ladies. We got them out, and they cleared the rubbles, picking up the pieces of bricks out of the way, and slowly got us out.

We had to rush down the stairs, which was not as badly ruined as the office. Heading down, we rescued some office workers from the floors below. But another problem occured. The second floor stairs turned to rubble. There was no way out, or down. One of the guys, fit as he was, climbed down. It was difficult even for a fit guy like him but got down. He went out to get help.

At this point we realised that the bombings had stop. We were at the third floor, praying for a miracle. There were no other exits there and there were no windows either. A few minutes later, help came. A firefighter was shouting from the first floor calling us and we went up to the fourth where there was a window. A firetruck had an extended ladder out to the fourth floor, and slowly rescued us.

At the end of it all I wasn't injured but I was pretty traumatised about the whole thing. I didn't think we could all make it, especially when the door didn't budged and when the stairs didn't lead anywhere. But thank God I survived, thank God I was safe.