Illumination Of A Snow Dreamer

Lights flash streams of gold and orange hues across her face as I watch her kneel in front of the streetlamp. She is a few years older than me, but still young. Although when she looks up the lines on her face say she has lived through more than years counted. It has started to snow as she moves towards the wall where I once laid. Her coat is in tatters and her feet without shoes.

I watch as she approaches each passerby. Most folk I see in these times have their heads looking into screens of devices they appear to talk or type to. They do not notice her and if they do see they step around hoping she will leave them be. They do not notice her feet which are now frost bitten or her eyes swollen from tears. Sometimes they yell,

“Get a Job!”

To be unseen in the current air is no different than the years when I sold matches. The dispensable are easily shadowed in the streamline vision of those who do not wish to see.

This girl holds a light though not from a match as I once did. Hers flickers with full array of color leaving only a blue flame in the end. I can see she is dreaming. She smiles with engagement as I once did when she closes her eyes. Is she seeing the goose and the beautiful ornaments on the Christmas tree? Does she hear the sounds of laughter and joy from days gone by? Snow continues to fall. I close my eyes as I remember.

It is New Years Eve just as it was for me so many years ago. A time when I left home to sell matchsticks with only slippers on my feet that would soon be lost. I needed to sell them all or my father would beat me as he had so many times before. I needed to sell them all or my mother would cry. I did try and I watched as people walked by while I lay in the snow. I would scrape a matchstick along the brick until it lit up the night sky to keep me warm. That is when I saw the goose who would later chase me as the match burnt out. Then I lit another and I saw the elegant holiday meal with a beautiful tree. There was family and laughter. Mother was happy. Father was not mean. I saw warmth. I became a snow dreamer. I danced in the festivities. Until the match burnt out. I lit another. I then saw my grandmother who was the only one who showed me love in this world. She was smiling and holding open her arms. I lit all the matches so she would stay, and I could see her. As the matches burnt out, I looked up to see a star shooting across the sky. My grandmother always told me that it meant someone was being brought to heaven. Her arms remained open waiting to hold me. Soon I would feel her full embrace. Cold and alone, I left this world to be loved in the heavens.

I open my eyes and look up to the night sky. I see another shooting star. Oh no! Not for this girl to suffer the same fate. I look down to see her, the other snow dreamer. She is gone. I look across the street. She is not there. Up and down the street, she is not there. Then I look out again at the wall where I once lay. I can see her, but she is not alone. A stranger has stopped with food and a blanket. I can hear them offering to bring the snow dreamer to a shelter. I smile as she nods. Maybe a shooting star can also mean a wish granted. I look again at the night sky as glimmer shines brightly and remains still. It is time to go home.

Author’s note this a modern retelling of the Danish fairytale “The Little Match Girl” by Hans Christian Anderson.