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Assignment: As a witness to the scene of the little match girl on New Year's Eve, recount the story of The Little Match Girl by Andersen
Explore 3 model essays: Witnessing the scene of the little match girl on New Year's Eve, retell the story of The Little Match Girl by Andersen.
Sample Essay 1: As a witness to the scene of the little match girl on New Year's Eve, retell the story of The Little Match Girl by Andersen.
I am a Christmas tree – a beloved species sought after in every household during the festive season. After the grand celebration, I am replanted in the forest to continue bringing joy to people next year. Thus, I've witnessed many Christmases and heard countless touching stories. Yet, one story remains etched in my memory – the tale of the little match girl on a bitterly cold Christmas Eve.
Yes, it was New Year's Eve, and the cold cut through like a knife. I stood in the elegant living room of a luxurious house with glass doors overlooking the street. As I waited for the stroke of midnight, the raucous laughter of mischievous children outside caught my attention. Peering out, I saw wealthy kids playing keep-away with a pair of worn-out shoes belonging to a little match girl. The girl, frail and poorly dressed, chased them into a snowbank. One shoe slipped off, and a sleigh ran over it, rolling it away. The girl, left in tears, embraced her helplessness. My heart surged with endless pity. Who was this unfortunate child?
I posed the question to the dining table in the room. The caretaker sadly recounted the girl's story. Her family used to live right behind the house I stood in, a simple but warm home. Tragedy struck when her mother passed away, and her beloved grandmother followed. Her father, despondent, turned to alcohol, neglecting his responsibilities, leading to the loss of their home. Forced to move to a shabby house, the girl resorted to selling matches. She spent her days and nights on the streets, enduring beatings from her intoxicated father. Tonight, on New Year's Eve, he would likely be drunk again, forcing her to sell matches.
The little girl remained alone on the street, wrapped in a tattered cloak. Offering her matches to everyone she met, but on this special night, everyone hurried home to their families. Who would notice a match girl? Her two frozen feet could no longer move, and her gaze towards us was pitiful and longing. Then, she looked down at the matchboxes... She tried to step towards the gap between two adjacent houses. I saw her quietly take out a match and strike the first one. The light reflected a sparkling gaze in her eyes. I saw warmth and a cozy fireplace; her legs stretched out as if to bask in its heat. Then, the first match went out. The girl's eyes seemed disappointed, hesitating for a moment, and then she lit the second match. Her eyes sparkled; her lips moved slightly, perhaps envisioning a lavish, abundant feast. The second match extinguished, and she lit the third. This time, as the light flickered, I felt like I saw my own reflection in her eyes. Many toys hung on me, and the girl joyfully danced around. But the illusion quickly faded, and she eagerly struck the fourth match. I wasn't sure what she saw, but her face lit up strangely. Her eyes glowed with warmth and enchantment. When the fourth match went out, I heard her exclaim tearfully:
'Grandma, don't leave me! Take me with you to the benevolent Supreme! You promised never to leave me...!'
While saying this, she quickly struck one match after another. At that moment, the New Year arrived. In the house I stood, people gathered around me. I had to return to my duties and couldn't continue following the match girl.
The next morning, I heard a commotion near the wall where the match girl stood last night. People gathered, discussing fervently. The match girl from the previous night had passed away, surrounded by many burned-out matches.
Perhaps it wishes to warm itself - the sound of someone expressing tranquility.
After many Christmases have passed, the death of the match girl haunts me endlessly. I no longer feel joy as Christmas approaches, knowing there are still match girls on the streets... And I wish there were no more girls, boys selling matches like that in this world.
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Sample 2: Being a witness to the scene of the little match girl on New Year's Eve, tell the story of 'The Little Match Girl' by Andersen
I am one of the matchsticks purchased by the little owner from a grocery store in the city. I huddle in the small box because today is Christmas. I hear the echo of the little owner's match selling resonating endlessly on the cold, snow-covered streets. She sells us to earn some meager coins, contributing to her family's difficult life. Despite being sold at a very low price, just one cent for a matchstick, no one buys us. As night falls and the cold intensifies, the little owner, like us, is probably shivering in her thin, cheap coat. I hear the Christmas music echoing, the sound of people happily wishing each other a happy New Year as the girl walks through the streets. Occasionally, I feel her stop for a long time somewhere. Perhaps it's a shop with beautifully decorated Christmas trees. Perhaps it's the joyful laughter of a family in a warm and cozy setting with turkey, wine, and pastries... The little owner seems very hungry, seeking shelter in the buildings to shield herself from the cold wind. She lights us, one matchstick at a time. When it's my turn, the girl has fallen into the cold snow. Before extinguishing, I still see a smile on her lips. A smile of happiness. Surely, the little owner is dreaming... a beautiful dream on this winter night. Christmas Eve - a peaceful Noel...
Life without dreams is truly dull; each matchstick holds the dreams of an innocent and pure soul. Each flame that burns is a bit of remaining love from humanity. The story ends sadly, but somewhere, we still see a hopeful ending. The girl must have thought she was returning to her mother, nestled in her mother's arms as she always dreamed.
'Have dreams, even though sometimes dreams are just dreams, but keep dreaming...' That is the message behind the story. The girl may have died, but not a meaningless death. She still exists somewhere in the thoughts of adults, reminding us that life must have aspirations. No matter how harsh the circumstances are, one should not give up, especially in the dreams of a tender soul without many opportunities—compassion and love.
Sample 3: Being a witness to the scene of the little match girl on New Year's Eve, tell the story of 'The Little Match Girl' by Andersen
'The creative narrative of a little angel going out on New Year's Eve...
On the bitterly cold New Year's Eve, a child sneaks through the crowded crowd. The small, pitiful shadow catches my eye, and for some reason, an overwhelming sense of boundless compassion surges within me. Leaving friends behind to quietly follow the girl, I see the thoughts in her head. Truly pitiful! A child who lost her grandmother and mother early—those who loved her the most. She lost the lovely house adorned with apricot blossoms, now living with a ruthless and cruel father, spending the days in drunkenness, and then pouring it all onto her, forcing her to live in a cramped attic near the roof, where the biting wind is no different from the freezing outdoors. The life she endures pains my heart.
Her eyes look up at those people with a pitiful expression, and I think someone will be moved to buy her a bundle of matches. But oh, no one buys for her, no one generously gives her a single coin. Her eyes moisten with teardrops—teardrops of sadness and bitterness. Hunger and cold make her bare feet stiff and numb; she curls up in the dark corner near a nearby house. The wind still howls... Snow falls gently on her head. Oh, what a pitiful sight! What can I do to give her a glimmer of hope in life?
The people on the street... Are they truly as cruel as the heart of Mother Winter, with warm clothes, scarves, and tightly wrapped necks? Did they not see the lonely and fragile child? Or did they see but deliberately ignore, pretending not to see? I no longer hope for them... My eyes compassionately look at her, the thin and trembling figure battered by each gust of wind. 'Little girl... light a match; you will freeze to death...' My heart utters these words. And it seems like she understands me. She raises her weary, vacant eyes towards me (although she never sees me)... No, she's looking at the house across through the window, with parents, children, and food already set on the table, a Christmas tree, a warm fireplace, and the fragrant smell of roasted goose. Just one wall away, just one wall... My little freezing sister and a happy family.
Taking a bold step, she struck the match. The first time, I vividly saw before her the blurry image of a warm fireplace with the rising heat, she laughed and stretched her legs, but then before her was just the cold night as the match went out. The second time, the match ignited a feast with hot roasted geese, a delightful aroma, and ready utensils. She raised her hand wanting to grasp everything, but it was all in vain. The third time, the match burst into flames, revealing a Christmas tree, grand and tall, adorned with paper stars and gifts. Then it quickly extinguished, seemingly ordinary dreams for other children but held immense significance for her. I cried... truly cried for a little sister I had never known... Since I hadn't yet become a little angel. The fourth time, she lit the match with a desolate and hopeless gaze, but behold, Granny appeared, kind and incredibly beautiful before her. Desires blazed within her, and she cried out—cries from the depths of her heart: 'Granny, don't go. Take me with you. I know when the match goes out, you'll vanish like the fireplace, the roasted geese, the Christmas tree... I don't need anything, just you. Please take me with you.' Then, like a mad person, she struck all the matches she could gather. The flames illuminated a vast area like daylight. Granny radiant and beautiful, then she held the little girl's hand. The two ascended high among the tiny flames like stars... behind her, angelic wings appeared. She returned to the Higher Power with Granny. I cried, but my tears weren't as bitter and poignant as before. I felt happiness because, in the end, she had achieved her dream...
The next morning, people found the child's body lying in the corner between two walls, with a smile and rosy cheeks. And around her, partially burnt matchsticks scattered... No one could understand why she died. Does anyone know the heartlessness that led to this heart-wrenching death? But that death was liberation for the wretched life of the little child...
