Donica Keeling The Little Match Seller

DONICA KEELING

The Little Match Seller

“In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and 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, one bundle of which was burnt.” -Hans Christian Anderson

The day closed and ice tore my sore bloody feet

Hungry I huddled my body close against a damp brick wall Purpling toes burning itchy from cold tucked under my little apron

Hands held tight around my little matches desperate to sell every one My cheeks frosted with tears I had sold none

As I sat there the moon rose higher the wind brushed my hair back and shook me

I plucked struck a single match

-Scratch-

The tiny flame sputtered swallowing more than I expected In the light I could see a brass furnace glowing orange and red and I could feel the warmth as I unfolded my feet from my apron and touched damp brick

I hesitated I needed to sell them all but still I struck the next match

-Scratch-

The wall disappeared and a roasted goose appeared before me It danced about knife and fork stuck in its breast just outside my grasp I reached out only to touch cold damp brick -Scratch-

As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I saw a giant Christmas tree bright stars on each branch and oh how I longed to touch it The more I reached the farther the lights went and again the match went out -Scratch-

As the tiny flame sparked to life a star fell from the sky

My grandmother told me a person dies whenever a star falls

“Grandmother!” I had focused on the star Missing her soft face smiling holding out her arms but the match was almost out and I did not want her to leave me here alone I quickly drew the bundle -Scratch-

The lights grew brighter still and my grandmother took my hand pulled me into her arms the numbing pain vanished and we flew up among the fallen stars