I've separated this from the stories section because all the posted stories are things that I write offline. This place will provide a good place for me to write something when I don't happen to have a copy of incomplete stories on hand (i.e. inspired to write, but I'm stuck at school). What it will consist of is a kind of burlesque take on popular fairy tales. I've always wanted to be able to write fantasy to some degree and since I have much difficulty coming up with ideas of my own, I'm going to steal them from other people first and see how it goes from there. So, what you'll find here is similar to Makeshift Shakespeare - Romeo & Juliet from the stories section, except these are considerably shorter, being fairy tales. Just a remake; a fractured fairy tale now and then. I apologize if there is any great delay between the addition of stories, but I can only write when I have the time and ambition. Thank you.
Read the original here.
It was New Year's Eve and as it was every night, the little girl sat curled into a ball against the cold brick wall of a stark, empty building. The streets had been vacated long ago and even the sidewalks were treaded on only by the snow that tumbled from the overcast sky above. The little girl stared up into the sky, hoping for a glimpse of the stars that always flashed into existence when the church bells tolled upon the midnight hour. She couldn't hold the gaze for long, as her eyes began to get cold in the wintery air; no stars could be seen anyhow, only the dull, melancholic clouds stretching infinitely across the horizon. The atmosphere was a frightening magnitude of mist and fog, shrieking maliciously at the little matchseller and surrounding her at all sides. She couldn't go home. She wouldn't. Not today. The streets were scary, but more frightful yet would be her father's reaction to her profits today. She hadn't sold one box of matches, not one, and such a blunder would not go unnoticed.
Her fingers stiffened in the cold as the wind shifted directions, blowing a fierce gust of icy flakes at her face. She gathered as much of her tattered guide as possible and brought her knees to her chest, hoping in vain that the shredded rags would help keep her warm. The little girl reached to her side pocket and pulled from it a box of matches. With shivering hands and a hesitant conscience, she questioned what would become of her if she were to light a match, just one, and return home. She knew from the past that making no profit in a day could ire her father, but what would transpire if she stole from the box of matches? Would she be thrown back into the street until they were all sold? She had hated to see her father angry at her, but no punishment such as that could be truly effective. The bitter streets were no colder than the piteous attic where she lived anyhow.
In mild haste, her quivering hands slid the box open and she pulled from it a dry, wooden match. The little girl leered at it for a moment and then struck it awkwardly against the coarse end of the matchbox. For that moment, all that was dark became light and a bright orange flare illuminated the alleyway with warmth and glee. The girl smiled and cupped her hands around the flame so the heinous wind couldn't put death to the blaze. Her eyes fell victim to the hypnotic cautery of the small match and in it she imagined she saw a warm stove, burning brightly within the flame. But as she closed her eyes and moved closer to the heat, the match went out, blackening the dismal alleyway. The night sky was getting darker and the air was getting colder. The girl sat against the wall shivering with a fearful look in her eyes. The streets were still deserted, a frozen wasteland of snow and fog.
The little girl struck another match and again came an immediate burst of luminescence and comforting warmth. She cupped her hands around the match and looked inside the bright orange flame. Beyond the flame, a brilliant ring of light cast itself upon the brick wall adjacent. Within the ring, the bricks became transparent and the little girl could see within the house where a dining room table had been set beautifully to accomadate a family. The table was spread with a vermilion cloth, decorated with a dazzling pulchritude of fine silverware and porcelain dishes. In the centre lay a roasted goose, stuffed with fruit, but more wonderful yet, as the girl continued to watch, the goose rose from the platter and began waddling toward her. She giggled as the goose came closer and stretched her arms out to reach it. The match burned out just as her hands collided with the cold brick wall before her.
She lit another match and found herself enveloped by warmth underneath a beautiful Christmas tree. More beautiful than she had ever seen. The magnificence of the garland glittering under the tree's candlelight filled her with delight and along the wall she could see a glorious wreath and a nosegay of red and green flowers laced just behind the tree. Myriad enravishing candles warmed her heart as she stared up at them, wholly enraptured by their light. The joy etched a smile across her face, but the match burnt out and the candles upon the Christmas tree became the stars of the night sky, finally peeking through the immense cloud cover. A shooting star flew silently overhead leaving a trail of fiery dust behind.
"Someone is dying," whispered the little girl. Her grandmother, the only soul to have ever been kind to this matchseller had told her before she died that a shooting star was the soul of a human being traveling to the heavens.
She struck a fourth match against the wall and in its flame, her grandmother smiled sweetly back at her.
"Grandma!" the girl shouted. "You musn't disappear like the stove and the goose and the beautiful Christmas tree! Take me with you Grandma!" Rapidly, the struck every match she had left, so that her grandmother could never leave. The little match girl was left in a daze as the matches burned so clearly that the darkness of night became as bright as day. Never before had she seen something so beautiful or pure as her grandmother's smile within the incandescent blaze.
The shooting star that passed over the sky fell far out of view and disappeared amongst the celestial bodies that beautified the universe. In the cold first morning of the New Year, the little match girl was found, red in the cheeks with a blissful smile on her face. In her lap and scattered all around the shady corner of the alley, were countless burnt-out matches.
"She had been trying to warm herself," people said sadly, not knowing of the wonderful visions she had seen or of the falling star in the sky that foreshadowed her own death.
The Little Match Girl
Coming up...The Frog King
