“Yesterday’s Fire”

Yesterday afternoon, something changed forever for Mervin.

It started as an ordinary day — clouds hanging low, a breeze drifting through the trees, and the familiar scent of lunch in the air. But by late afternoon, smoke began to rise where it never should have. Within minutes, the place Mervin called home — his flat, his comfort, his peace — was swallowed by flames.

People saw it from blocks away: dark smoke billowing from the windows, fire licking at the edges of the roof, the sound of glass shattering and sirens screaming through the streets. Inside that flat were more than just walls and furniture. There were memories.

The chair where he sat with coffee each morning. The shelves filled with books he’d read and ones he’d promised himself he would. A guitar leaning quietly in the corner. Clothes still warm with the scent of familiarity. And photos — irreplaceable moments frozen in time, now lost to smoke and heat.

Mervin watched helplessly from the pavement, his keys still in his hand, heart sinking with each crack and hiss from the building. He didn’t speak much. What could he say? How do you explain the feeling of your entire world unraveling in front of your eyes?

Neighbours gathered, some in disbelief, others offering quiet words and nervous glances. But nothing could touch the weight of the loss that settled on Mervin’s shoulders.

By evening, the fire was out. But the silence that followed was heavier than the noise. The fire brigade said it was electrical. A spark, a moment, a twist of fate.

Now, all that remains is a blackened outline where his life used to be. And yet, beneath the sadness, there’s a quiet strength in Mervin — the kind that comes not from what you’ve lost, but from the simple act of standing in the ruins, and deciding, somehow, to keep going.

He lost a home yesterday. But not hope.