The MC's best friend is named after Sapphire~♚, one of my supporters and a fellow Canadian! Go check her out!

A dead crisp. A burnt-out shell of its former glory.

That is all my house is now.

Well, after the fire stopped burning, that is.

When it it was actually safe for the firefighters to go in, retrieve anything of mine that was still in one piece, and get back out safely.

I stand stock-still, shocked, or maybe mystified.

My home is burning to the ground, and I must watch in pain.

Not only my house, but years of memories going up in flames, and I am powerless to stop them.

The firefighters are rushing to save my sweet home, but I have a sinking feeling it's already too late.

I think of my scrapbook, given to me by my now-deceased grandmother. She kept it a secret from me for a long time up until the end of high school, and gave it to me at my graduation.

It is the description of my life when she was there, the most important bits and pieces.

I tried to keep adding things to my scrapbook after Grandma died, trying to carry on the tradition.

But I simply don't have the knack for it like Grandma did. So I kind of just gave it up.

Later, I'm told that the firefighters had salvaged every last item of mine they could find from the wreckage, and had put my now-meagre belongings in a safe for me to collect.

These things were now the only ones I had from my old life, fragments of my past.

Because when my home, my beautiful home, caught fire and collapsed, part of my heart did, too.

That place was my life, my happy spot, and the fire killed me as much as it did the house.

The same thing with my random stuff; it made me happy, especially my books.

My beautiful, amazing books that I would collect without meaning to.

I would lose myself in a good book for days, lying in a bed piled high with pillows, a cup of hot chocolate on my nightstand.

I would stay there until I had finished the book, whichever wonderfully-written one it was.

Then, I would eventually have to get out of bed and do gardening, make lunch, or refill my cup or something, but I would always find a new book on my growing bookshelves and crawl back into bed with it.

And now, that bed was gone. Ash. Memories.

Wiped from existence, only to remain in my mind.

I sigh unhappily.

I'm at my best friend's house, Sapphire, who kindly took me in when she heard the terrible news.

She rushes over now.

"Sweetheart, are you alright? What's wrong?"

Sapphire's a dear, and our friends always joke that she'll be a great mom someday.

"No, no, I'm fine," I insist. "I'm just...thinking."

She nods understandingly, but I can see the worry in her eyes. It's obviously directed at me. "Okay, but at least stay like that, lying down!"

I roll my eyes, but oblige and return to my reclined position.

Sapphire blows me a kiss in an almost sad way, and bustles back to the kitchen.

I lean back and sigh again, this time a bit more pain-related than in sadness, but I guess that too.

I suffered third-degree burns from the house fire, but got out just in time to live, as the doctors told me. Any longer, and I would have been toast. Literally.

They also said I should be grateful my burns weren't worse.

But honestly?

I would have gladly died if it meant saving all my memories.

And, of course, my dear, dear scrapbook.

I could pass them to my cousins, and they could pass my memories and scrapbook to their children, and that way they'd stay in the family.

Comforted a little by that thought, I settle deeper into Sapph's squishy couch and drop off into that dark abyss, also known as sleep.

Three months later, slightly better off than before

I'm back on my feet, but the fire still haunts me.

It rests in the back of my mind, and is always in my dreams.

My scrapbook is too.

It represents my past life, with my family, before the fire.

The days of happiness, and fun times.

I cherish those days, drink them in. Those memories, enhanced by the scrapbook, help me relax.

I used to look at the book before I would go to bed, and it would help me fall asleep.

Of course, the scrapbook is gone now.

And my nights are spent awake and restless, thinking about everything that happened.

But my friends are amazingly kind, so I'm settled into a small apartment over looking Main Street.

It's the perfect size for me, not cramped at all. But if more people come over, we may have a problem.

There's a teensy office with my sticker-plastered laptop in it, my very blue bedroom, the 70's bathroom that I plan to change, and the kitchen, dining and living rooms that are mashed into one.

It's pretty basic, but I've added my own background touches to it.

For example, the blue throw pillows on the furniture and my new bed, the cute Stitch plushie on the shelf, and of course, the turquoise area rug that is a staple in every home I've lived in.

Thankfully, that was rescued from the fire.

But my little apartment's also adorable, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love my baby condo, but the hole left by my house and all the memories is significantly bigger than my excitement for the apartment.

But that's too sad, so moving on.

I finally unpacked everything last week, with Sapph and her boyfriend Elliot helping me.

We actually made short work of my boxes, probably because there wasn't much in them.

I sober at the thought. I really don't have much left.

Just good memories, memories of how things used to be.

How it was, so perfect and wonderful, before everything went in the wrong direction.

How that night changed my life.

Forever.