Stepping into the shoes of the little match girl, I spin a tale with a different ending.

Essay Prompt: Stepping into the shoes of the little match girl and narrating a different ending

Sample essay: Stepping into the shoes of the little match girl and narrating a different ending

Sample Story: Stepping into the shoes of the little match girl and crafting an alternative ending

On a chilly winter night amidst the dazzling lights of the city, I wander along with a basket full of matches. It's New Year's Eve, and every house on the street is lit up until late. Carriages parade with affluent families, bustling with festive cheer. Couples stroll hand in hand, children excitedly shop with their parents. Everyone longs to finish work early and reunite with family. Yet, I am unable to return home. I don't have a home like everyone else. I remember a time when I too was escorted to celebrate New Year's, slept soundly in a cozy home, and wore nice clothes for Christmas. Those were the days when my mother and grandmother were alive, and my father was a good man who cared for the family. But when my two dearest departed, my father became despondent, drowning himself in alcohol, forgetting about the vulnerable child needing care. I have a shelter, but it's not a home; it's a cramped attic. In summer, it's scorching, in winter, it's freezing.

I trudge wearily along the road, peddling matches. Despite the elegant passersby, they show no interest in me. Perhaps they don't need matches to keep warm or sympathize with a dirty, ragged child like me. I sit down in the corner of two houses, trying to tuck my feet in to ward off the cold. Even my tattered shoes were taken by some mischievous boy. Outside, the snow blankets everything, but the fir trees stand alone. I see a girl about my age strolling down the street, munching on a delicious sandwich. I touch my stomach; what have I eaten today? If only there were a fireplace and food, it would be a blessing. I dare to strike the first match, hoping to warm my cheeks. In its flickering light, I envision a fireplace, reaching out to its warm glow, but it vanishes, and the match extinguishes. I lament, striking the second match, this time seeing a lavishly decorated dining table. A large, succulent roast goose approaches me, but the match fizzles out. I strike the third match, before me, a cozy home adorned with a Christmas tree. The tree laden with gifts and toys. Before I can reach out, it disappears. I strike the fourth match, this time, I see my grandmother, the one who loved and cared for me in my days of joy. I grasp her hand, but she's too far away. I call out to her, she turns back, smiling. I light the remaining matches, pleading, 'Grandma! I miss you so much, I'm hungry and cold here. Take me with you!' But she's gone...I chase after her, running into a warm room. She's calling me to wake up for a bowl of fragrant porridge. I open my eyes but find no one, just a kind woman smiling at me, and I instinctively ask:

- Where's grandma? I want to see her!

The mysterious woman explained:

- My name is Marry, this is my home. Last night, I found you unconscious on the street, so I brought you here. You were weak, so the doctor gave you a shot. You'll recover soon. Now, please sit up and finish this bowl of porridge to get better quickly.

I was utterly surprised and bewildered to learn that this wasn't heaven nor where my grandmother lived. But perhaps, she looked down upon me with mercy and sent this kind-hearted woman to me. She spoon-fed me each bite of porridge and smiled at me. It's been a long time since I felt human love. I cried and poured out my heart to her. After some thought, the woman gently said:

- You understand everything. I'll help you. Stay here and consider it your home. I live alone with my elderly mother, who just passed away. With you here, I'll feel less lonely.

In the days that followed, I lived joyfully with the woman. Marry's house was spacious, with a farm where she grew crops and raised sheep with many helpers. When she wasn't home, I played with the sheep and the housemaids. Yet, my happiness wasn't complete because this wasn't my home, and my father wasn't here. If only my father could come and live with me, we would tend to the sheep and harvest together every day. He wouldn't drink anymore, nor would he scold me.

One afternoon, as I was cutting grass for the sheep, a man suddenly appeared, calling out:

- My dear daughter, it's your father here.

Yes, it was my father, but today he seemed different. I felt a mix of joy and fear.

- Come here, my child, I won't scold you anymore. I'm sorry, my child.

I ran to hug my father. He lifted me up and kissed my cheek. He apologized, admitting his mistakes, promising to be a better father, to take care of me like my mother and grandmother.

During my absence, my father woke up from the nightmare of losing both his daughters to alcohol. He shared his pain with me, how he lost himself. He told me about Marry, who came to our house and advised him wholeheartedly. She's the kindest person in the world. She helped him pay off his debts and convinced him to stay here with me. He'll take care of the garden and the sheep for her.

Since then, no one saw a poor little match girl and a drunken father anymore. Only at that vast farm, there's a small hut where two fathers and daughters live. It's tiny but always filled with laughter.

Thus, we have suggested Stepping into the Shoes of The Little Match Girl and Crafting a Different Ending for the next assignment. Prepare for the Reflection on The Little Match Girl section and along with the Retelling The Little Match Girl Story to gain a deeper understanding of this content.