This story is based off of "The Little Match Girl" by Hans Christian Anderson. Any parts of this that are similar belong to him, not me.
It was the last night of the year, New Years' Eve. Though the night was still young, the temperature had already reached well below zero. The snow fell lightly on the streets and buildings of the town, covering it all with a pure, dazzling white. The sun was beginning to set, signaling to everyone that the festivities were just about to begin.
Through the cold and darkness, a poor young girl by the name of Amelia F. Jones wandered about the street. Her feet were bare, and she had no scarf or coat to call her own. She had left home with a pair of old raggedy slippers, but they did her no use. They were too large; a pair her mother had worn before her. They were so big that poor Amelia lost them dashing across the road as a car full of drunken passengers rushed by, just barely missing her.
One slipper was nowhere to be found, presumably buried deep in the snow or lost in the gutter. The other had been taken by a greedy and stupid homeless man, thinking he could sell the worn out shoe for a few cents
Amelia continued to wander along, her feet a mixture of red and blue from the freezing cold. She was carrying several matches in her pocket and was holding a single bundle in her hand. It had been a horrible day; no one had bought any matches from her, and a few people even went so far as to be rude and downright heartless towards her, telling her to "go to the damn orphanage already and get off the streets already."
She hadn't earned a single penny, and she was starving. The last somewhat satisfying dinner she had eaten was months ago, and the last time she had the barest minimum to survive was earlier this week. The time between meals for her was growing longer and longer, she noted, and her frail frame was evident from it. But right now, she was just cold and hungry and tired...
Lights were glittering from all the windows, and there was a wonderful smell of roasting meat throughout the street. People were laughing, having a good time welcoming the new year. And all Amelia could think about was the simple fact that it was New Years' Eve, and here she was, all on her own.
She sat down and tried to warm herself in a corner between two small shops, but to no avail. She slowly grew colder and colder, but she dare not return home penniless. Her father would curse and beat her, and besides, what would be the use? It would be cold at home as well. They lived in a small, abandoned house with barely a roof. The wind blew right through it, even though the holes in the roof and the shattered windows had all been covered with old newspaper and whatever else they could find.
Amelia's hands were practically dead with cold, when an idea sprang into her mind. A lighted match might not be much, but it would at least do some good! She dared take a bundle, strike it against the stone wall, and warm her fingers!
Whoosh! How it sparkled! It was a gentle warm flame, just like those small candles she had seen them light in church. But... What a strange light! It seemed to Amelia as if she were sitting in front of a large iron stove, complete with polished brass knobs and gleaming pots and pans. The fire was simply wonderful, magnificent even, and it gave out so much warmth! She had just stretched her numb, frost bitten feet out to warm them, when the flame suddenly went out and the stove disappeared. She was sitting there, alone, with only a burnt match- end in her hand.
Amelia struck another match which burned and glowed. Where the light danced gracefully on the wall, it became transparent. She could see into a large room where a dining table was covered with an elegant white cloth and set with fine china. There was a roast goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, which filled the entire room with a delicious and mouth-watering scent. Amelia reached a desperate and hungry hand out towards it all when plop! The goose jumped from its plate and rolled over to the poor girl, the fork and knife still in its back.
The match went out yet again, and there was nothing to see but the thick, icy wall in front of her.
Amelia struck a third match. Immediately, she found herself sitting under a magnificent Christmas tree. It was bigger, greener, more beautifully and intricately decorated than the one she had seen through the glass doors at the rich factory owner's house last Christmas. A thousand, no, a million candles were burning on the lush, green branches. It seemed as if all the colorful and bright figures dancing about the millions of tiny flames were smiling down at her. Amelia slowly held up both of her hands, but the match quickly died out. The Christmas candles quickly rose higher and higher, until she realized they were just stars. One of them fell, which made a long, wild streak of fire in the night sky.
"... Someone is dying," whispered Amelia. She whispered for her old grandmother, who was the only one that had ever shown any type of kindness towards her. Before she died, she had always said to her: "If you see a falling star, it means that a soul is going up to heaven."
Amelia struck another match against the wall, this time creating a great light. In the middle of that brightness, she saw her grandmother, who looked so sweet and so shining.
"Oh Granny, take me with you," cried the girl. "When the match goes out, I know you won't be there any longer. You'll disappear just like the iron stove, the roasted goose, and the beautiful Christmas tree."
Amelia, in a panic, suddenly struck the rest of the bundle. She so desperately wanted to keep her grandmother, and the matches shone so gloriously that it was even brighter than daylight itself. Never before had her grandmother seemed so tall, so radiant, so beautiful. She took Amelia in her arms and the both of them flew away in radiant joy, higher and higher until it was all just a blur. No more cold, no more hunger, no more suffering. They were in everlasting Paradise.
In the freezing early morning, Amelia was still sitting in the corner between the two shops. Her cheeks were a rosy red and she had a content smile on her face... She had passed on, frozen to death on New Years' Eve.
New Years' morning rose over her frail little body, laying there with the matches. A single bundle was completely burnt up.
A tall, shaggy blonde with bright green eyes knelt down next to her, carefully scooping the deceased girl into his arms, as if she were still alive. "She just wanted to keep herself warm..." he muttered, his sad, teary gaze falling on the few people that had stopped to see what the fuss was about. The man silently began to weep for poor Amelia. For the poor, innocent girl that had died in a time that was supposed to be filled with merriment and joy. Not with suffering, cold or hunger.
But not he, or anyone else knew what beautiful and simply delightful things she had seen. Nor in what radiance she had entered the New Year with her beloved old grandmother.