The Little Matchstick Girl

The little girl, pale, frail with dirty tresses of blonde hair, stood in the dark and the cold, selling matchsticks. They were all she had, aside from the rags on her back, from home. Not that the cottage where she once lived could ever be really called a home.

Her mum tried her best with little more than nothing, but her father was a cruel and violent man, and the little girl was his favourite punchbag.

When he lost his job, she faced a disgusting prospect. She could remain in the loveless home and "entertain" the most loathsome and repugnant townsfolk, or she run away and make a life of her own.

So, at 11, she ran away from her deplorable father and his enabler wife in the dark and the cold. Still, she had hope and tried to fight the smog of despair.

She sold her matchsticks to the rich, ruthless and rotten of the city. Only occasionally would she receive something like gratitude or worthiness. When they looked at her, she could feel their disgust burn through her.

No-one asked her name. No-one cared. Why should they? She was not their responsibility. They got their matchsticks, lit their poisoned tobacco rods and went into the warm tavern where they gorged their bellies on ale, vodka, bread and hearty stews. While she tried desperately to survive.

One night when it was especially cold, she perished. Unexpectedly, there was no commotion or upheaval, no sleep was lost. She was, after all, just one poor little homeless girl.

This is normally where the tale ends. Which is fitting as it spotlights your own morality as you read it. However, there is more to the tale.

As she lay there motionless in the snow, her lifeless body convulsed and jolted as electricity burnt through her flesh. Her eyes were afire, and she rose. Driven by an unknowable force, she entered the tavern, despite attempts of the locals to throw her out. One by one, as they looked at her with disgust, they felt the fire from her eyes burn through their flesh as they screamed in horror. She stood there in silence, motionless and emotionless as they perished.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: Had reverted this to Drafts when I was considering expanding it for the Legends Rewritten Challenge, but never did. So apologies for the republish. Word Count - 366 bang on the dot. I have always despaired at the original horrible story and while I do not think we should shield from the harsh realities of life especially when it comes to things like class and wealth divides, I wanted the little girl to get some kind of revenge.

This is for L.C. Schäfer's wonderful little unofficial challenge, you can find more details about it here:

As ever, here are a few other choice cuts from recently published pieces you can devour, if you choose to: