The day of the fire started off as any other normal day. I awoke at the break of dawn, slipped on my well-worn work dress, grabbed my hankerchief containing a few slices of bread and cheese for lunch and headed for the door. I stopped to reach for my heavy shawl for the late March air usually contained a sharp bite, especially when the wind swooped between the tall buildings down through the streets and caught me off guard. I met Abraham in the hallway with a smile and we walked to work together.
I remember the last time I saw him. He got off the elevator on the eighth floor, one floor above my own. Before he left however he turned and to the shock and delight of all the other people on the elevator, mostly girls, he kissed me goodbye right on the cheek. Squeals and giggles that arose from the tiny conveyor car were quickly followed by hisses of warning as one of the girls noticed a forelady emerging into view down the hall.
Turning, Abraham gave me one last dazzling grin over his shoulder before swinging jauntily out of the elevator and down the hallway towards his workplace. In a particularly bittersweet memory of mine I can picture the back of his rumpled blue shirt and the spring in his step as the doors closed on his figure. I can't help but wonder if I had known what would take place later that day, would I have have said or done anything differently than I had?
When the elevator stopped on my floor I remember getting off clearly and walking down my own hallway past the many workrooms where the day was just beginning. Machines could be heard coming to life and the familiar sounds of sewing shears beginning to make their way carefully through fabric could be heard already before I even entered my room, picking my way through the maze of machines and fabrics to my own workstation.
The day went by as any other day normally did, monotonous and slow. Lunch was passed in my seat and then worked resumed again. Over and over the same thing, hold up a finished piece, check the seam, examine for any flaws, fix them if there were any and then place the item in a basket to be taken for ironing. The foremen and foreladies made their usual rounds of inspection.
The first thing out of the ordinary did not actually occur until the whistle was a few minutes from being blown. I was gathering my work and neatly organizing it upon my desk, making ready for the following day when muffled shouts from the floor below were heard. All of us working looked up to the foremen curiously but they appeared just as puzzled as we did. Several of them turned and hastily left my room to search for the cause of the outburst.
We were told to remain in our seats but a few short minutes later we discovered to our horror what all the commotion was about. Faint whiffs of smoke could be traced as it rose through the floor boards beneath our feet. Panic swiftly arose as all of us leapt to our feet, fearing the worst and began to dash madly for the doors. The foremen made no attempt to stop us as they too were hurriedly making for an escape.
I remember turning to look behind me and seeing the windows and the thick grey smoke trailing upwards from outside, obscure my view of the streets and the skies above. A horrid nauseating feeling of being trapped engulfed me and I became desperate to find an escape. More and more smoke began to pour through the floor and moments later the first glimpses of flame could be seen. No words can describe the chaos and the noise. Screams of terror and confusion were everywhere as our sight was taken away by the choking, blinding smoke.
I remember stumbling over piles and piles of material that was strewn about in our haste and finding a window. A girl appeared beside me brandishing a stool and together we thrust it through the glass, desperate for air.
Gagging and coughing I tried not to look down as I tried to suck in whatever clean air I could before turning back and seeing flames dart up and lick at the already smoldering fabrics and scraps dangling from the ceiling. I knew at once that I could not stay where I was. I turned to the girl who had been with me only to find her stepping through the broken window and plunging to her death on the streets below. Shock jolted through my being as I watched helplessly.
Reeling away, sick with grief and ridden with adrenaline I pushed my way past other girls who seemed dazed and ran about hysterically in circles, while others tried to put out the flames with a few buckets of water but it was beyond that now. I tried several doors and to my horror I found them all locked.
I remember screaming and pounding on the doors, pleading for someone to hear me on the other side, tears of utter gut-wrenching fear streaming down my cheeks. It was then I remembered the door on the opposite side of the room reserved for the bosses only. I whirled to find the passage to it nearly choked with flames that shot wildly into the air, already beginning to scorch the ceiling above as it searched for more fuel to feed it's ravenous hunger.
It was my last hope and I had no choice but to run as quickly as I could straight through the center. I did so screaming in an attempt to bolster my courage. I made it but when I reached the door I noticed my skirt was on fire. I remember slapping at the flames wildly with my hands, not even feeling the searing pain shoot through my head, so great was my desire to live.
When every last bit of flame had been extinguished I reached for the doorknob and to my utter relief, it turned in my hand. I pushed it open and staggered into the smoky hallway. I was not alone, many other people were with me and they all ran for the stairwell, pushing, shoving and shouting in their haste. I decided to try the elevator first and ran down the hallway in that direction instead, just in time to see the exit to the stairs crumble and be eaten alive by flames.
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