Matches

"Matches? Matches?" I proffer my wares to the pedestrians passing by. No one seems to be interested. There are a few muttered "No thank you"s, but most people either completely ignore me or toss a glance of pity in my direction. I hear the clack-clack of dress shoes as the hurried people get home to their wives, husbands, children. The doors have all quietly banged shut, most of the shops are dark, the windows locked up and the shades drawn. The muffled conversations of families sitting down to dinner after a long day reach my ears from behind the walls of the nearby houses.

I walk the empty sidewalks, shivering as wind blows through the cooking town. Night has almost completely fallen. The toes of my bare feet go numb. The voice of my hunger cries out to me in rumbling growls from my stomach. I am tired, so I sit down on the corner near the bakery, smelling the fresh bread and cinnamon scent that haunts the area, ghosts of the past day. I light one of my precious matches, hoping it will warm me up.

I hold it near my feet, and curl my body up. I can almost feel the tiny tickle of heat against the frozen skin of the tips of my toes. Suddenly, I see a flash of red. I jump up, causing the match to go out. I drop the useless matchstick to the cobblestones. I am quickly lighting a new match, my hands are shaky, and it takes several strikes for the red bald head to erupt into flame. My heart is pounding through the bones of my chest. I hold up the tiny match to look around for the source of the red. Surprisingly, a great amount of light is given off by it. Then I see it.

A red-cloaked figure is slipping into the woods. The trails of the cloak are like fingers against the rocky ground, motioning for me to follow. I grow enchanted by the slow, swaying movement, and begin to obey, despite my weariness. I follow the road to the end of town, and then travel through the sparse tree at the edge of the woods. The rotting leaves are mushy underneath, and the musty smell assaults my nose. The branches of the trees, leafless and lifeless, twist through the nearly black sky, gnarled fingers on old men's hands, reaching for support. I begin to get to the thicket parts ofvthe forest, and lose track of the red figure.

Astrong gust of wind blows through, shaking sons of the few dead leaves that were still hanging on to the forest floor. The match I held went out. I light another, excitedly. "Oh!" I called out, upon seeing red. I follow it, gaining on it slightly, to where the distance between us is the same as it was before I lost sight of it. Somehow it knows where to go. Or at least it seems to. " I suppose it must travel here often," I said to myself, "But I've never seen a red cloak before, much less a person wearing one. Who is this?" My mind begins to wonder at the practicality of following this... being through the woods instead of resting up for the next day, which would be the same routine as it had been for a while. Begging for food, selling matches, begging for food. My metronome.

Then, almost simultaneous with the thought of matches, the one I held went out. In the darkness, a hidden root appears. My foot hooks under it, and I trip. The ground flies up to me. I inhale autumn as I lay face-down on the damp forest floor. Chills rack my body, and I shiver violently before sitting up. Red then flashes across my mind. I remember the cloaked figure. I light a new match, despairing that whoever, or whatever, it is, it is probably long gone. But the miniature flame yet again lights up the world, and the edge of the cloak is just disappearing around the next corner. I scramble to my fee, before realizing my ankle was damaged. I limp as fast as I can after the red cloak, sure that I will be left behind. However, I am always just a step behind.

The red cloak leads me further and further into the woods. Somehow, I knew it was there for me. Then, a house appears, and I am even surer of it. The lights are all on, candles in the windows with shades open. My match blows out, and everything grows dark, until I light yet another, and illuminate the door of the house, which is now wide open in front of me. I take a tentative step inside. "Hello?" I call out, "Anyone home?" No answer. I venture furtherinside, and see a hugecfluffy armchair. I excitedly jump into it, never having seen such marvelous furniture. It feels like having a great bear wrap its lovely arms around me, and I snuggle into it. The match goes out.

I light a new one, afraid the chair would be gone, now that I no longer felt its warmth beneath me. Instead, a huge banquet of all the most delicious and exquisite dishes appears. The smell of roasted chicken and baked potatoes drifts into my nose, spirits of delight. The heady scent of chocolate puddings and pumpkin pies, pulls me, dreamlike, to the table. I sit down, and stab some luscious meat with a fork. Just as I bring it to my lips, everything grows dark, and I am again standing in the cold.

I strike a new match against the box, wishing desperately for the food to reappear. Instead, there is a bed. The sheets are of a rich red color, the pillows plump and inviting. I climb into it, ANC the luxurious fabrics smother me. Finally, I feel warm. Then, the last match goes out.

End.