I smell something. Something you would only smell during a bonfire. But it cannot be… Because I live by the shore where there is nothing but rocks, sand and ocean around me. I run fast into the kitchen when I realize that the whole room is on fire. I know that, because I can see smoke coming out of the kitchen door. Black terrifying smoke, something out of a horror story. I realize quickly that I must put out the fire before it is too late… So I run down the stairs and grab the fire extinguisher as a last resort before looking up the stairwell only to realize that I was too late… The fire had gone wild and there was no other hope but to abandon the house for good.

As I sit in the yard I start thinking about the first day I saw the house. I remember how overwhelmed I was and how good it felt, when I finally saw a house that gave me a sense of home feeling. It was like getting the largest chocolate from your parents as a child. That feeling that you could get mediocrity but no, you got the highest standard. I remember how the great and steady oak planks shined in the sun when I arrived. They were all put perfectly together. Almost as perfect as the beautiful currant red color was painted on. The paint had a wonderful smell, similar to a strawberry field on a hot summer day. On the inside there was a much softer side than the hard oak planks on the outside. There was a soft sofa that can make every man sleep safe and feel warm. I always felt a comfy warmth in the house because of the furnace that I could heat up whenever I felt cold and miserable. The nails that held the house together were of titanium steel, which is one of the strongest steel there is. I knew from the start, that this was a house to keep and that it would be hard for me to break it down, even if I tried…

Last night however, I did something that only a mighty God could forgive. I drank a bottle of rum and smoked a cigarette before tossing it on the floor, something I did not consider would have a bad relapse at the moment. I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was wrong. Nevertheless, I made the choice not realizing how wrong and dangerous it was. However, I was wrong… I was dead wrong when I woke up this night only to realize that the house I had fallen in love with was all burnt down to ashes. I thought the house was stable and that it could not be destroyed. Now I realize that no house in the world could withstand such an action of destruction. I also realize that the house is not to blame, because the only one to blame is myself…

I am now sitting in the garden with an empty bottle of rum looking at the last remains of the house. All I can see is the cold and hard concrete platting covered in ashes, which was the only thing that did not burn down… I really wish that I could get a second chance, that this was not the end. But I know that no matter what I do I will never find a house in that standard, and even if I got the materials back and tried to rebuild it, it would never be the same…

-Olav T. Helset