A variation of the Hans Christian Anderson story, because IDK. It randomly came to mind. 5/14/13


New Year's Eve was bitterly cold. Too cold to be out wandering the streets of town for any reason.

Some people were out and about, shopping, meeting with friends for pre- New Year's Eve festivities, but they walked briskly, more often alone, passing everyone else as if they didn't exist.

One such non-existant little fellow was Axel, a boy not twelve years old, quietly entreating those around him to buy matches. Even a single match would do; his father would surely lock him outside for the night should he return home in failure. He might just beat him viciously, but there was no guarantee. His moods were unpredictable of late.

So the boy wandered the streets, displaying the one pack of matches he had. That was all he had been given, but for some reason no one was buying. Surely on a day like this, someone would have need of them.

He walked toward a constable, smiling hopefully as he showed the man his matches.

"On your way, boy. No soliciting here."

Frowning, the redhead nodded politely, wandering off towards a group of men as they left the bakery. He would have to be subtle. There wasn't anywhere else he could go, and he had to sell these last few matches.

The warm scent of freshly baked bread and sweets assaulted his nose, tempting and torturing him. Axel almost stopped to look in the window, but he couldn't be distracted. He did feel a bit more desperate, however, longing for even the smallest scrap of bread.

"Excuse me, Sirs." They looked down at him with disdain, and he tried his best not to shrink at the unwelcome feeling. "Would you like a match?"

"Begone, brat," said the tall one, the man with silver hair and golden eyes. "Sell your wares somewhere else."

"B-But Sir! Wouldn't a lit match be nice on a day such as this? They're warm and last a while!"

"I said no!" the man shoved him aside, as the others just continued walking. "Leave me be, you filthy urchin!"

"Is this boy bothering you, gentlemen?" the constable asked, grabbing the boy by the arm in a harsh grip. Axel hadn't even noticed him approach.

"Indeed he is. Kindly remove him, would you?"

"Of course." Axel had no choice but to follow him. The constable led him away from the main street, past the bakery and all the stores that were closing down for the night. He led him to an abandon street and finally released him.

"Go home, lad," he commanded. "No more badgering today."

"But Sir!"

"None of that now. Be on your way." With that, the constable left, and Axel sank to his knees in the snow, watching him leave.

He wasn't trying to be a pest, he just needed money. If he went home now, his father would surely be angry. Couldn't anyone understand that?

Axel felt the first of several frozen tears slide down his cheeks, and he wiped them away. A cold wind whipped down the street, making him shiver and hug himself tightly. He winced as he felt the cold bite as the snow soaked through his pants. The wind made it seem so much worse.

He knew he should go home, but something stopped him. Even as the lamps were lit and twilight faded into night, he stayed there, totally ignored by the few people scurrying home.

After some time, the boy brushed himself off and crept towards a nearby alleyway. It was still snowy and cold, but thankfully it was out of the wind. Settling down there, he pulled out a match and held it in his grubby fingers. His gloves had long ago been worn down with holes, and he could see his fingers turning blue. So he lit the match and held it cupped between his hands, smiling a little as the little flame warmed them.

After a moment, he relaxed his fingers, looking at the little yellow light. It reminded him of another time, when everything seemed nicer. He could almost see the lovely Christmas feast that his mother would make every year, the house sparkling with simple but beautiful decorations. Behind the table was a fireplace, with a large, roaring fire. There was a pot hanging above the fire, rattling and bubbling over with hearty soup.

The redhead licked his lips as he looked at it all. The small but savory turkey, mashed potatoes with a heaping helping of his mother's special gravy...

Oh, how he missed her cooking.

An unexpected wind blew the match out, and the vision disappeared.

Axel blinked at the match, then desperately clawed through his bag for another. With some difficulty, he struck it, illuminating the alley with another soft, tiny glowing light. He watched it for a moment, smiling when the vision returned. Watching it, he almost didn't feel the cold anymore.

It was Christmas Eve, four years ago. He remembered opening presents with...

The little boy sniffled, eyes watering as he caught sight of soft blonde hair.

Roxas.

He and the blonde boy were sitting on the floor by the fire, unwrapping a few presents. The paper was dirty and torn in places, but the gifts were still fun to open. There was a little drum and bugle, cheaply made, as well as a small set of wooden toy soldiers. Roxas smiled up at their mothers, then Axel, asking if he wanted to play with the soldiers.

The redhead nodded and picked one man up, noticing only then that he was cast with a single leg.

"This one is broken," he said with a pout, tossing it aside and reaching for another.

His friend crawled over to the little soldier and picked it up again, examining it.

"There's nothing wrong with him. He serves his country, even with one leg! That's so much better!"

Axel smiled sadly at the memory. Roxas seemed to always see the bright side of things.

That had been a wonderful Christmas, before everything had changed.

He hadn't even known that his friend was sick for the longest time. He didn't come over to play much after Christmas; Axel would have to go see him. And sometimes he wouldn't even get to do that. Roxas's mother would turn him away almost every time.

Then one day, he just...died. Axel watched them take his friend away, carried to some mass grave out of town. There was a tiny service held at the church, but then it was over. He didn't even know where he wad buried.

All of the poor and sick faced that fate.

Now his mother was sick with the same thing Roxas had had. The cold made her weak and sleepy. She slept all day, leaving Axel and his father to work, cook, and take care of her. And his father was always angry now.

As he started to lose the vision, the match burned out. Hastily, he pulled out another one, and banished the sad thoughts from his mind.

He was there in the moment. Roxas was here with him, smiling and laughing. He crawled under the Christmas tree and pulled Axel with him, and then they just laid on the floor, looking up at the beautiful tree and talking forever. The blonde really loved their tree. It was much nicer than his own.

Roxas and his family would join Axel's for the holidays. It had become a tradition. Even though they were both poor, they could buy a bigger turkey with their combined money. There was more wonderful food to eat, and it was fun to have his friend there.

Then their mothers called them for dinner. They hurried to wash their hands and ran to the table, taking a seat as Axel's mother began the prayer. Axel tried to take a piece of turkey, but the younger boy elbowed him hard, chiding him quietly. With a grumble, the redhead folded his hands and closed his eyes. He'd just wanted a taste.

"Not yet," Roxas hissed softly, and the redhead rolled his eyes behind the lids.

He'd given up praying a while ago. If there was a god, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to change things. But he behaved for his mother's sake, and Roxas's.

Soon enough they were digging into the small but hearty meal, and the vision became a distant dream, blurring more and more as time slipped away...


The boy was discovered the next morning, stiff and covered in the snow. In his cold hands, he clutched the remainder of a match, black at the tip. It was the same constable who found him and took pity on him, lifting the boy into his arms and carrying him away. Many would have left him be, making a grave of that abandoned street where he slept, but the man did not want that. He would find the boy's parents and let them have the body, if only for a little while.

He only wished he'd known.

Axel's soul sat still in that alleyway, lost, alone, unsure of where to go. He had watched his body go, taken away to be buried, most likely, but he dared not follow. He did not want to jump into that earthly crevice, to rot with the rest of him.

Suddenly, a warm light filled the area, obscuring the cold snow and dingy street from view. It was strange, but ethereal, beautiful, and welcoming somehow. For moments, Axel could do nothing but stare at it, mystified. Was this what he was waiting for?

Then the light seemed to ripple. A familiar blonde child approached him, materializing from the center, bearing a warm smile and an outstretched hand.

And Axel understood.

With a matching smile, he accepted the hand. Roxas pulled him to his feet and embraced him, his body strangely warm. They remained that way for a short time, then the younger boy drew back, taking his hand and guiding him towards the light. They needed no words because there were no questions, no answers. His friend was simply here to bring him home.

They stepped into it together and vanished from the world...