Satu Sepuluh

they were describing to me how bad it was to live on the East side of the city. from getting a fine at every two minutes car park they did, to getting mugged by six twelve year-olds armed with pepper-sprays.

it was at the peak of the recent winter. they had to wear coats inside the house, tiptoeing and trembling walking up and down the stairs; no heating was working.

a five-feet walkway across their two-storey flat was an abandoned building. it was an old two-storey building used as a parish back when it was first built in the early 1900. a evacuation notice has been put up since last November, it was to be demolished yet no work has been done.

a small opening has been made by the homeless people, the neglected building became their shelter, they lit fires from the discarded planks to warm themselves.

near midnight, one of their housemates came home and told them to come out. upon stepping out of the house, they saw the bright fire of the abandoned building. they could actually feel the heat of the flame from where they were standing.

the Old Bill and the fire brigade were deployed. only one man managed to escape the fiery building, from the only one exit available; a drunken man in his early 30s, who spoke in slurs with his teary eyes.

a few moments later, the whole brickwall facade buckled and the timber framed roof collapsed. it caved into the building and avoided any damage to the school next to it.

it took the fire brigade five hours to completely kill the fire.

it was reported later that at least five homeless people were trapped in the fire. they were burnt alive the very moment they watched the blaze.

“poor them”, said my friend, “i bet anything built on the ground will now be haunted by the ghouls of the burnt homeless.”