The Girl with the Matches

A Story by MajesticGust

Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Match Seller" with a twisted plot.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful.

…

The matches went out and again she was left with the remains of the burned-out matches.

The savory smell of the roast goose was still drifting in the New Year’s Eve air. The sound of friends and families laughing echoed from every house.

Everyone was happy in their warm homes, eating their warm food, and in the arms of their warm family. Through the windows, she could see that they finished their meal and were off to bed.

Under her breath, she muttered,

“It’s unfair.”

…

She should return home. No one would buy anything from her today. They were all safe and warm in their houses, and no one would be willing to step out to talk to a girl like her.

She slowly dragged herself up and headed home. Her small feet were gnawed by frostbite. The snow piled on her weighing her down, but she didn’t have the strength to swipe it off of herself. She was soon too numb to feel the cold, winter air.

As she walked, she looked into the windows of every house. Each house was warmed by the fire in the fireplace. The light showed the people’s faces, which showed no signs of sickness or sadness or suffering.

“It’s unfair.”

…

All of her matches were used and burned out, and she made not even a penny tonight. Her father was surely to beat her. She wondered why she was headed home; there was no roof to shelter them from the cold or the snow. She might as well have slept on the road right then and there.

She longed to return to town and sleep outside the houses where warmth and light shined. But the adults were surely to chase her away. She was too far from the town now for it to matter anyways.

The snow continued to fall on her.

“I don't want to go home.”

…

She turned around and began to run to town. Surely someone would take her in.

Surely someone would have pity on her and shelter for the night.

Surely someone would… she hoped.

The snow continued to fall and her body continued to weaken. She fell down countless times. Her hands and knees were scraped from the rocky road. The town was still far off. She got up and ran.

Or tried to.

She fell down. Unable to find the strength to get up again, she remained laying in the snow. She was no longer able to feel the cold. The snow continued to fall, and her small body was soon buried under the snow.

“It’s unfair,” she mumbled and closed her eyes

Something poked at her side, and she reached for it. She lifted her hand above the piling snow to see what it was.

Under the moonlight, she saw that she was holding a match. It must have been caught in her apron. She sat up with her remaining strength and stared at it.

She reached for a rock and lit the match.

The match barely lit before the winter air put it out. She looked at the smoke from the match.

She laughed, a sound devoid of joy.

“It’s unfair.” She tried to stand up, but her knees gave out, unable to support her weight, and she fell face down into the snow. Her hands still held the match that failed her.

“It’s unfair.”
“It’s unfair.”

“It’s unfair! It’s not my fault!”

“I didn’t do anything! What did I do to deserve this?!”

The match from under her began to glow. Her old, ragged apron began to burn. The fire soon spread to her entire body.

In the light of the fire, she saw the town burning. The pitiless and the merciless people were in their houses. One by one, she watched them burn. Their warm houses burned down, one by one. She could make out the howlings of suffering.

She turned around and saw her home also burning. Her father called out to her. He called out to her, asking for help. He was blinded by the fire, and he couldn’t escape from the burning house. He continued to call out to her before the building collapsed on him.

She laughed again, and felt warm for the first time.

…

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth… The New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen.