Last night when everything seemed running as ordinarily as you could imagine, something terrible broke out with a start. At around 20:00, a cloud of black smoke billowed out from nowhere, and soon nasty odor was pervaded in the air. I scurried out to balcony to see what was going on but saw nothing except a hazy curtain of night.
In the distance, shouts were heard. Though I couldn't get the words clearly, I smelled a rat. It didn't take me too long to realize that there was a fire in our community. Very shortly, fire engine and ambulance were there.
The whole experience was new as me and mom hurried to pack our stuff in case an evacuation was needed.
However, it turned out that the fire was not serious enough to call for an evacuation alarm and the firefighters put out the flame in split-second.
The smog dispersed minutes later and we went back to our ordinary life. Another minutes later, the whole thing was erased from my mind as I sat down in front of my desk reading literature written in ancient Chinese. For what? Because to me the ancient Chinese literature was more horrible than fire!
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