Dear Bloggers,
During the my wanderings through my funny mind.
I wanted to put an old fairy tale into a modern form.
Everyone knows the sad story of the girl with the matches.
As a young bloke this story made me cry and I realized that not everyone is
that lucky in this life, some have to live under harsh conditions
This is my version of it. I wish everyone a warm and loving Christmas time.
It
was a frigid cold night outside on the streets of downtown Groningen
City, the coldest night of the year in fact. It was Christmas Eve and
all along the littered and paved road were buildings with warm glows
coming from the windows of the apartment buildings. Everyone was
happily celebrating the Christmas spirit with glasses of brandy or a
beer and a typical Christmas movie on their televisions. The snow
fell down fast and thick, blanketing the sidewalks in a soft but
chill powder. The snow ploughs would have quite a job clearing all
the walkways and roads in the morning.
A
public service bus emblazoned with Groningens famous grey and red
dotted pattern managed to find a vacant spot along the side of the
busy street and parallel parked, coming to a stop. The back passenger
door opened and a man in a dark trench coat and dark hat shoved a
young girl onto the unploughed sidewalk. The bloke threw a box at
her, revealing quite a large stock of packaged cigarettes. “Now, I
don’t wanna see you back on my doorstep until every last pack of
smokes has been sold, you got that kid?” the owner of the hat
yelled harshly. The girl sighed and shivered as the wind tore through
her thin jacket and ragged jeans.
“Yeah,
alright! I’ll sell ‘em!” she snapped back, thoroughly irritated
with her big brother doing this to her again. He had sent her out in
the frigid cold every night this week to sell those disgusting
cigarettes his buddies smuggled in from other countries. She had
gotten quite ill from her late-night job and even now, her eyes were
streaming and her nose was dripping terribly. Her lungs felt about
three sizes too small for her body and every now and then, she would
be plagued with a wracking cough that left her gasping for air.
Of
course, her brother would not take her to the hospital. He didn’t
want to waste his precious money that she earned for him on something
as trivial and unimportant as medical care. The
bus slowly took off again and got out of sight again, leaving the
sick young girl of about twelve years by herself on the streets of
Groningen City.
She
wore no gloves and her sneakers had holes in them that allowed the
snow to soak through and freeze her toes. Her jacket was too ragged
and thin to wear in March, let alone late December. Pulling the thin
fabric tighter around her scarf-less neck, she put her head down and
trudged her way through the bitter cold snow, being jostled back and
forth by busy Groningers who were in too much of a hurry to notice
her.
Finding
a rather busy intersection, with bustling traffic all around her, the
girl decided to advertise the cigarettes there. Placing the box in
front of her on the ground and pulling out a brightly coloured,
freshly wrapped package, she cleared her aching throat and shouted
out. “Get your cigarettes here! Fresh, smooth cigarettes with a new
mint flavour! Only three fifty a pack! A great low price!” she
yelled out, displaying the carton as high up as she could to grab
people’s attention. A few passing folks bought a package or two,
but most just turned their heads and kept walking without a word. She
had only sold four packages of cigarettes and needed to sell the
entire box full before returning to her brother.
A
bout of severe coughing caught the young girl by surprise. Doubled
over, she hacked and spluttered until she thought she may vomit right
there on the pavement. Luckily, the feeling passed although she was
left gasping for breath, hands on her knees at the intersection. Of
course, the bustling Groningers walking past paid no attention to
her. The suffering of a little girl was no concern of theirs.
Wiping
her runny eyes that were now mixed with hot, salty tears, the girl
shook her head to shake the snow out of her hair. “Forget this!
This is dumb!” she muttered to herself angrily, giving the box of
cigarettes a good kick, leaving a sizable dent in the soggy
cardboard. Picking up the box and continuing to walk down the street,
she had to bite her lip to stop from crying out in pain. She was so
cold she couldn’t feel her toes or her fingers and she was aching
all over from the beating her brother had given her the day before
for coming home with no profit.
“Psst!
Hey, kid! You got some smokes there?” the voice of a homeless man
wafted out from an alley. The young girl was not afraid of street
people. Most of them were usually kind enough to spare an encouraging
word or a few extra scraps of food when she made her rounds. She
nodded and stepped forward. “Yeah, but I can’t give ‘em to you
for free or else my brother will beat me,” she told him
apologetically. The homeless man waved a hand as if to brush off her
words.
“Ah,
that’s okay kid. I got some matches though. Care to trade a pack of
smokes for some matches?” he asked, pulling out a small handful.
The girl was about to apologize once more and say that her brother
would hit her for trading any of the cigarettes when a thought struck
her. The matches would provide some kind of warmth for her numb
fingers. Unable to resist, the girl eagerly nodded and traded the
homeless man for the matches. “Thanks, kid. You’re alright,”
the man complimented her, walking away with his new treasure.
Taking
the man’s place in the dark alley, the girl struck one of the
matches against the rough brick of the building beside her.
Thankfully, the match wasn’t wet and a small fire glowed brightly
in front of her eyes. Looking up, the young girl witnessed the most
amazing sight. Before her lay her old living room from when her
mother had been alive, decorated lavishly for the holidays. A
gleaming pine tree covered in twinkling lights and tinsel shone
magnificently and presents were laid underneath, covered in festive
wrapping paper as a roaring fire spread its warmth throughout the
room. As the girl reached out to touch her surroundings, the flame of
the match flickered and died out; leaving her once again in one of
Groningen City’s many dark and frighteningly cold alleys.
With
a cry of fear she desperately struck another match. This time, she
was in her old dining room, also decorated for Christmas and the
table groaning under the weight of all the delicious food upon it.
Roasted turkey with cranberry sauce and gravy, mashed potatoes, wine
and eggnog all freshly made by her mother. The scent made the girl’s
mouth water, but again the vision did not last and with the death of
the match’s flame, came reality once more.
Just
one more… the girl thought to herself hopefully, again striking a
third match. Rather than seeing visions of her old home with food and
decorations made by her deceased mother, she saw her mother before
her. She was alive and well, looking healthy and jubilant. She smiled
warmly at her daughter, holding her arms out to embrace her. Sobbing
with joy, the girl frantically lit the rest of the matches she had,
not wanting the image of her mother to fade away like the others had.
“Mom! Mom, take me with you! Don’t leave me again, mom!” she
wept.
“Come.
I’m taking you with me, where you will never be sad or cold or
hungry again. We will be together forever,” her mother’s sweet,
gentle voice called out calmly to her. Smiling through her tears, the
girl ran into her mother’s arms and they were floating higher and
higher. As they ascended, the young girl could feel all her sadness,
loneliness, hunger, and cold fade away, leaving her in a state of
bliss as she embraced her mother. She would never feel these things
again.
The
morning rush hour traffic on the first day after Christmas was
brought to a standstill as police tape surrounded a snowy alley. A
female officer leaned over the body of a little girl, surrounded by
lit matches and a box of cigarettes nearby. She cleared her throat
and spoke into the walkie-talkie attached to her breast pocket. “We
seem to have a Jane Doe here, approximately ten to thirteen years
old; seems like she froze to death last night. We’ll have her at
the coroner’s by midday. Over,” she told another officer. The
officer sighed and shook her head. “Poor kid. Probably she was just
trying to keep herself warm.”
but somewhere up there waiting for us. And when our time has come
to exchange the earthly to the afterlife.
Whatever you believe and no matter who you are.
Just remember Love conquers all.
The Old Sailor,
