The Lonely Giraffe

When everything burns, something always survives.

It lay lost and forgotten. Soaking wet from the fire hoses, but only slightly blackened from the fire, which was odd given the amount of damage. The whole building had burnt to the ground. The whole town was saying the whole childcare center had been lost, but they were wrong. One lonely little giraffe remained.

Earlier that day, he’d sat crooked on a shelf. Some nice lady had righted him, and he’d been able to watch around the room. The toddlers had played with blocks, the babies had cried in their cribs, and he’d stayed lonely on his shelf. At one time he’d been a sought-after toy, but that had been years ago. For some reason, no one wanted an old, worn-out stuffy with fading brown spots.

Now he was one of the few toys that had survived a five-alarm fire. Take that, world! He’d survive a while longer. Once people realized the fire had been intentionally set. When it became known he was the only survivor, he would be important again, but not to a child; that would never happen again.

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If you know someone who enjoys cozy mysteries with a little heart (and a cat or two), feel free to forward this.

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I share cozy short fiction and ongoing mysteries like this every week!

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PS. If you enjoy stories with emotional stakes, more are waiting in my Gumroad shop → Here