Top 8 Essays on Immersing in Matchsticks: The Best Retellings of 'The Little Match Girl' Story

On that New Year's Eve, in a small street in Denmark, the cold was fierce, snow blanketed the rooftops and the streets. A little girl, orphaned and barefoot, wandered through the dark night. Her tiny, bare feet were frozen, turning purple from the cold. She carried a basket full of matches, and still had another pack in hand. All day long, she hadn't sold a single match. Wearing tattered clothes, with a starving belly, she had no choice but to roam the streets. She must have been cold and hungry, as we, the small matchsticks inside the box, could feel every tremble of her body in the icy wind. Snow piled up in her hair, forming little clumps at the back of her head.

New Year's Eve was a time when families gathered in warmth and happiness. Every window gleamed with light, and the scent of roasted goose filled the air. Through the crack in the matchbox, we saw the girl appear somewhat dazed. Perhaps the sights around her reminded her of happier times, when she spent the New Year's Eve with her kind grandmother. But those moments were short-lived. Death came and took her grandmother away. The family lost everything and had to move out of their lovely home, surrounded by ivy, to live in a dark corner. The girl often had to endure cruel words from her father, who, possibly due to poverty, had become harsh.

Hungry! Cold! The girl couldn't walk anymore. She curled up in a corner between two houses, trying to shield herself from the biting wind. She pulled her tiny legs close, but the cold seemed to cut deeper. However, she couldn't go home empty-handed, as her father would punish her. But even more, she didn't want to return home because it was just as cold and hungry there as it was outside. The two of them lived in an attic, and despite stuffing rags into the cracks in the walls, the cold wind still blew through the house.

In the bitter cold of New Year's Eve, the girl wandered alone with her basket full of unsold matches. Her small hands were stiff from the cold. We pitied her, but there was nothing we could do, as we were only matchsticks. Why didn't she use us to warm herself for a while? She seemed hesitant, unsure. Finally, she struck a match against the wall, and my companion, the matchstick, lit up. The flame was initially blue, then turned white and glowed bright red, illuminating everything around the matchstick with a cheerful brightness.

The girl held her hands over the glowing matchstick as if it were a warm hearth. The flame lit up her face, and her eyes shone with joy. She imagined she was sitting in front of a shiny metal stove, with a glowing fire that radiated warmth. The fire burned brightly and warmly. I, lying in the basket beside her, felt warmer too. The girl thought to herself, 'How wonderful it would be to sit in front of such a stove when the snow is falling and the bitter wind is blowing outside!'

But as she stretched out her feet, the flame flickered and went out. The stove disappeared. My friend, the matchstick, had burned out completely. The girl sat motionless, lost in thought, remembering that her father had sent her out to sell matches. If she returned home tonight without selling any, she would surely be punished.

The beautiful images she had imagined while gazing at the flame of the first match urged her to strike a second match. I wanted to burn brightly for the girl, to let her live on in her beautiful dream, but I had already fallen out of the basket. The second match flared up, and before her, the wall seemed to turn into a colorful curtain. She looked through it into a room. The table was set with a white tablecloth, fine china, and a roasted goose. And the most magical thing happened: the goose appeared to leap off the plate, carrying a knife and fork on its back, walking toward the girl.

A gust of wind blew, and the match went out. My friend could no longer burn. Before the girl was only a gray, cold wall. The beautiful illusions vanished as quickly as they had come, and the hunger and cold were still there, torturing her. The reality replaced the dream. There was no feast, no warmth, only the empty, freezing street, the snow-covered ground, the howling wind, and a few warm-clad passersby, oblivious to the girl.

Yet, the girl continued to wish. She longed for a large, beautifully decorated Christmas tree to welcome the New Year. She struck the third match, and suddenly, a Christmas tree, just as she had imagined, appeared before her. Thousands of candles shone brightly on its branches. Many colorful paintings, like those in display cases, appeared in front of her, looking perfect. She reached out her hands toward the tree, but the match flickered out. The candles flew up and became stars in the sky...

On that Christmas night, the air was freezing. For days, the snow had been falling incessantly, as if hurriedly decorating the city for the sacred occasion of Christ’s birth.

A little girl, clutching a bundle of matchboxes, walked along the icy sidewalk, calling out to passersby. Despite the freezing cold, she walked barefoot on the street. Her old shoes had been hidden by mischievous children earlier that day. The cold was biting, and her feet were swollen and bruised from the harsh chill. She staggered along the side of buildings, trying to avoid the worst of the cold, glancing up at the indifferent crowd, half-pleading, half-embarrassed. Strangely, although she had been selling matches for only one penny per box, no one seemed interested that night.

As the night wore on, the cold grew even harsher. Snow continued to blanket the street. The little match seller felt exhausted. Her feet were now numb, devoid of feeling. She longed to return home, curl up on her meager bed in the corner, and sleep to forget the hunger and cold. But thinking of the cruel words and sharp blows from her stepmother made her quicken her pace. As she walked, she gazed longingly at the warm homes, each one decorated beautifully. Some houses glowed with colorful lights, others had Christmas trees adorned with gifts. In many homes, tables were set with roasted turkeys, wine, and cakes. The little girl swallowed, her stomach growling, as her hands and feet shook violently. She felt colder and hungrier than ever, covering her face with her hands, she walked on, the sound of Christmas carols drifting through the streets, while everyone else celebrated with joy, oblivious to her suffering.

As midnight approached, the snow intensified, the darkness, cold, and hunger pressed upon her frail little body. She found a corner between two tall buildings to shield herself from the fierce wind and seek some warmth. Sitting down for a moment, she remembered her bundle of matches, so she pulled one out and struck it to warm her frozen fingers. The flame flared brightly, offering a brief warmth, but it quickly extinguished, leaving her frustrated. She tried another match, and as it burned, she saw a table full of delicious Christmas food before her. Elated, she reached for it, but just as quickly, the match went out, plunging her back into the oppressive darkness, and the cold intensified. Terrified, she grabbed her matchbox and started lighting one match after another. With each flicker, she imagined being at home with her loving mother. Her mother would hold her close by the fire, dress her in a warm, beautiful coat, and feed her sweet treats. Each time the match went out, her mother’s image faded, but she desperately struck another match. She continued lighting match after match until, in a frenzy, she ignited the whole matchbox. When the flames lit up, she saw her mother picking her up and carrying her away, flying to a place filled with music, where she would no longer feel cold or hungry.

The next morning, the people in the street found the poor little girl lying dead beside a pile of scattered matches in the alley.

That Christmas night remains etched in my memory. The snow fell endlessly, and I could sense how freezing cold it was for our owner. Her hands trembled violently, and the cold seemed to add to the magic of the day – the day of Christ's birth. She held us tightly – the matchboxes – while walking, her voice raised to announce our sale in the biting cold.

At that moment, everyone was gathered around their warm fireplaces, while children like her sat, eagerly waiting for Santa. No one paid attention to her cries. It was pitiful to watch our owner, barefoot, walking through narrow streets to sell us – the little matchboxes. I felt sorry for her as she had lost her worn shoes earlier that morning, taken by mischievous children. As the night grew colder, I noticed her feet turning purple, and I couldn’t do anything to help. Looking around, I saw people rushing home, indifferent to her suffering. Why did she continue to sell us for a penny, as usual, without anyone asking about her? Were they too busy or just indifferent?

As the night deepened, the snow kept falling, blanketing everything in white. I could feel that she was exhausted, her feet numb from the cold. She longed to return to her bed in a corner and sleep through the hunger and chill, but I saw her hastily walking, thinking of her father's harsh words and beatings.

After a while, she stopped and gazed at the warmth of the houses lining the street, their families happily gathered. I heard her swallow hard, her body shaking. She remembered her beloved grandmother, who had passed away, and the joyful Christmases they had shared. But now, she faced daily torment from her father's beatings and cruel words.

Sitting in the cold corner between two houses, she curled up and hugged her knees tightly, trying to warm herself, though the cold only seemed to deepen. I saw her sit still, deep in thought, before she took out one of my companions – a match – and struck it. The flame flared up briefly, then died. I couldn't understand her thoughts, but her eyes sparkled with joy, and I swear I saw a smile. My heart lifted as she struck another, then another, the flames lighting up brightly again. Her face lit up with joy. Suddenly, she exclaimed,

- Grandmother! The little girl cried, joyfully, "Please, let me join you! I know that when the match goes out, you will disappear, just like the fire, the roasted goose, and the Christmas tree. But please, don't leave me here alone. We were so happy before, and you said if I was good, I would see you again. Grandmother, please, I want to come with you! Ask God for me, I believe He will grant my wish."

The fourth match went out, and with it, the image of my dear owner vanished. Yet, she pulled out all the remaining matches and started lighting them. It was as if she wanted to hold onto something. We illuminated the area like daylight. On her face, a content smile appeared. A corner of the wall briefly lit up, only to be replaced by darkness again. We had provided the last spark of light, but she finally collapsed, perhaps from exhaustion. She hadn't eaten or rested for days, and now she was starving. We wished we could help her through it.

On New Year's Eve, the cold wind was biting. A poor, orphaned girl, barefoot, with no hat, and starving, stumbled through the dark. She had not sold any matches all day... She was the poor, unfortunate girl who owned me. Alone, she could only seek company from the matchsticks like me.

Every home had bright lights, and the streets were filled with the aroma of roasted goose. After all, it was New Year's Eve! The wind grew colder with each passing moment. From inside my worn-out box, I too could feel the chill of the night. Yet, my owner, with her bare head and feet, wore only a thin, tattered outfit. Her eyes were distant, as if recalling some far-off memories. Perhaps she was thinking of the happy childhood days she used to share with her grandmother before death took her away, and her family had to leave their lovely home to live in a dark corner, constantly enduring cruel words and neglect.

She sat against the corner between two houses on the street, hoping to shield herself from the bitter wind. She curled up as best as she could, but I could tell she was trembling more and more as the cold gnawed at her tiny body, crouching in the corner beside us. You might wonder why she didn't go home, but the truth was, my owner couldn't go back without selling at least a few matches or earning a coin to bring back. If she didn't, her cruel father would punish her. Besides, it was just as cold at home. She and her father lived in an attic under the roof, where, despite stuffing rags into the large gaps in the walls, the wind still whistled through. I saw her hands stiffen and freeze.

- The wind is getting stronger. If this continues, she might freeze to death! Is there any way to warm her up? - My mother asked in distress.

- Mother! We can fulfill our purpose by burning bright to warm her! - I suddenly had an idea.

- Yes! If we burn, we might warm her for a moment, though she wouldn’t dare do this!

- Don't worry, mother!

With that, I signaled to my owner. The poor girl looked at me with kind, understanding eyes.

- Sister! You're so cold, aren't you? Please light some of our matches to warm up a bit!

- No! If I do that, my father will beat me for not earning money, and my matches will run out. Besides, wouldn't you and your friends perish?

- Don't worry! Your father is drunk, he won’t remember how many matches you have left. As for me and my friends, we were born with only one purpose — to burn bright. That is the meaning of our existence. Burning bright is what brings us joy!

She hesitated for a moment, but I think she understood what I meant, and then she picked up a match. We were all ready, but my mother decided to go first. She told me goodbye cheerfully, and then the girl struck the match. The flame started as a faint blue, but soon it turned bright red, shining brilliantly. Perhaps my mother had longed for this moment of brilliance.

My owner held her hands over the glowing match like a coal fire, and smiled contentedly.

- Do you feel warmer now? - I asked.

- Oh! Look at this, your mother's light is so wonderful! It feels like I'm sitting in front of a metal stove with shiny copper ornaments. The fire inside dances joyfully and gives off a gentle warmth. It’s so comforting! Oh, how I wish I could stay like this for hours, in the cold snowy night, before a stove, it would be blissful!

Stretching out her legs to warm them, the light from my mother faded. The smile on my owner's face vanished, replaced by a moment of silence, then worry and fear. My mother had completed her task, a brief but meaningful mission. Perhaps when the match went out, the warmth faded, and my little owner realized what she had just done and dreaded the punishment she might face.

My owner struck another match, and the bright light appeared again. She smiled and told me that she saw a wall replaced by a beautiful fabric curtain. She saw inside the house, where the table was set with fine white tablecloths and precious porcelain dishes, and a roasted goose. But the most magical thing was that the goose jumped off the plate, knife and fork on its back, heading toward her.

But then, the match went out. My owner returned to the harsh reality, to the bitter cold of the snowy night.

- All that remains is the cold, thick walls, no more curtains or festive meals. Just the empty streets, freezing cold, the wind howling, and people rushing by in warm clothes. Perhaps they are heading to their celebrations.

- Is it possible that they can ignore your plight so easily? - I asked, filled with anger.

But in response, she only stared into the distance in silence.

My owner lit another match, and again her eyes were dreamy and happy. Perhaps she saw a grand Christmas tree, decorated with thousands of shining candles and beautiful ornaments. She reached out into the air, perhaps trying to touch something in the illusion before her. But the match went out again.

- All the candles flew up, up into the sky, turning into stars. Surely someone has died. My grandmother once said that when a star falls, a soul rises to heaven with God. - My owner sighed softly, speaking to me.

- Sister! Every time a match burns bright, you feel happiness. Now, please light me up, so I can complete my mission and warm you just a little more!

My owner smiled kindly and then struck me against the wall. The glow surrounding me shone bright green, lighting up the surroundings. This time, I could see what my owner was seeing through the surrounding glow. A benevolent old lady was smiling like a fairy. It was probably her late grandmother. I heard her gentle voice:

- Grandmother! Let me go with you! I know that when the match burns out, you’ll vanish, just like the stove, the roasted goose, and the Christmas tree, but please don’t leave me here. We were so happy before, when you were still with me. You told me that if I behaved well, I’d meet you again. Please, grandmother, I beg God to let me be with you. Surely He will not refuse me.

The light around me dimmed and faded. I had fulfilled my mission as a match.

- Good job, my child!

I turned around, and I realized that I had ascended to Heaven. Looking down at the Earth, I saw my poor owner lighting the last of the matches in her box. She wanted to bring her grandmother back! Then a miraculous sight appeared before us. The grandmother took my owner's hand, and the two of them soared into the sky, free from hunger, cold, and sorrow. They had gone to be with God.

On New Year’s morning, I saw my owner, now in a beautiful dress, smiling happily in Heaven, gazing down at the Earth. The snow still covered the ground, but the sun rose brightly, casting its rays on the blue sky. People happily left their homes. In the cold morning, by a wall, people saw a young girl with rosy cheeks and a smiling face. She had died from the cold on New Year's Eve.

On the first day of the year, they found the body of a little girl sitting among the matchboxes, one of which had been completely burned. People whispered, “She must have wanted to warm herself!” But no one knew the miracles she had seen, especially the wondrous moment when she and her grandmother soared into the sky to welcome the joys of the new year.

Night had fallen, and every window in the houses gleamed with light, while the air was filled with the aroma of roasted goose. The moment for New Year's Eve was near. Yet, we still wandered the streets with the poor little girl. We silently hoped for all of us to find a home, a place where we could belong. Only then could she return home and celebrate the holiday in warmth.

But fate was cruel. On the eve of the new year, who would be buying matches anymore? At this hour, people were already settled at home, gathered by the fireplace, preparing for their feast. We knew that, and the poor girl knew it too. But still, she walked on, through the cold, holding onto her tiny hope. A hope so fragile, it seemed on the verge of disappearing into the night.

The night grew late, and we could feel the little girl’s hands growing stiff. She stopped, deep in thought, when suddenly, she took one of us out and struck a match. The flame flared briefly, then vanished, leaving behind nothing but the glowing embers. We weren’t sure what the girl was thinking, but her eyes were filled with joy, and it seemed a smile appeared on her lips.

She stretched her legs but stared blankly as the match died out. She stood there, lost in thought for a while, probably worried about not selling the matches and the punishment waiting for her at home.

Then, with more determination, she struck the second match. The fire flared up again, bright and warm. The girl's face lit up with joy, and her cheeks were flushed with warmth. But no more than a minute later, the flame extinguished, and she was left with only the cold, dark walls around her. The streets were still empty, the cold biting through the air. Snow covered everything, and the chilly wind howled as passersby hurried along, their warm clothes a stark contrast to the girl’s misery.

The girl no longer thought about her father. She had no fear now. She struck another match. This time, the flame lingered longer. The joy stayed on her face a little longer too. We wondered what she might be thinking, maybe of the Christmas tree or of her dear grandmother.

Once more, the girl struck another match, and a blue light radiated around her. She smiled and whispered with happiness:

- Grandma! Please take me with you! I know that when the match goes out, you will disappear, just like the fireplace, the roasted goose, and the Christmas tree. But please, don’t leave me here alone. Before you went to heaven, you told me that if I was good, I would meet you again. Please, Grandma, I beg you, ask the Lord to take me to you. Surely, He won’t refuse me.

Our fourth match died out. And just like that, the bright vision on the girl's face vanished too. But she pulled out all the remaining matches and struck them one by one. It seemed like she was trying to hold onto something, something she couldn’t let go of. The matches flared up, one after another, filling the dark corner with light. Her face broke into a contented smile, and for a moment, the corner around her shone brightly before quickly returning to the cold, dark silence. We had lit the final flames, but the little girl slumped, exhausted. Perhaps she hadn’t eaten or rested for days. She was surely starving. We felt deep pity for her and wished that New Year's Eve would end quickly, bringing her peace.

The next morning, the snow still covered the ground, but the sun rose, bright and shining in the pale blue sky. We, the last few matches in the girl’s bag, heard a woman’s voice calling:

- Little girl! Little girl! Who are you, and how did you end up like this?

Curious bystanders gathered around, gazing at the girl with rosy cheeks and a faint smile on her lips, lying among the match boxes, one of which was entirely burned out. The woman pushed through the crowd and stepped in. She carried a cup of warm milk and a new woolen coat. After drinking a few sips of the milk, the little girl slowly stirred, waking up. A few men helped the woman carry her to a small house, and then they went on their way to celebrate the holiday. The little girl, now fully awake, sat by the fire.

- Thank you, ma'am! the girl said.

The woman quickly responded:

- It’s nothing, child! I could tell what had happened just by looking at you. I feel the same sorrow as you. I once had a granddaughter, but the Lord took her away. Meeting you today, I feel as if the Lord has returned a granddaughter to me. I may be small, but I have a big heart. If you wish, you can stay with me as my companion.

The little girl didn’t answer. Her eyes welled up with tears as she gazed at the falling snow outside the window. But suddenly, she turned and ran into the warm embrace of the woman, crying out: Grandma! Grandma! Is it really you, returning to me?

It was a cold New Year's Eve, with mist covering the streets, yet we wandered through the city in the basket of the poor little girl. By this time, the streets were nearly empty, and the lights from windows lit up the sidewalks while the smell of roasted goose filled the air. 'Why isn't our little mistress home yet?' we all thought, but we could only lie still and pray that someone kind would buy us and take us home to celebrate the New Year in warmth and comfort.

Our prayers, however, seemed unlikely to be answered. On the thirtieth night, who would be out buying matches? Everyone had already gathered with their families, enjoying a final meal of the year by the fireplace, awaiting the New Year. We all understood this, and surely our little mistress did too. Yet, her steps never stopped; she continued walking through the cold night with hope fading into despair. The hope began to fade, replaced by a look of anxiety on her innocent face. The surroundings grew quieter as pedestrians became fewer, and the smell of roasted goose grew stronger, making her step quicker. From the gap in the matchbox, we could see despair creeping into her eyes. Perhaps the scene reminded her of memories she once cherished. She remembered spending New Year's Eve with her dear grandmother, warm and safe at home.

But those happy days were short-lived. Death took her grandmother away, and after their wealth disappeared, they were forced to leave their cozy home surrounded by ivy and move into a dark, gloomy corner. Every day, she was scolded harshly by her father, who had grown cruel due to his own frustration. She no longer had a warm bed or delicious meals; instead, she was faced with a sad reality.

As the night grew late, her tiny hands seemed to stiffen with the cold. Her steps slowed, and she stopped at the corner between two houses. A brief thought crossed her face, as she pondered something deeply. Quietly sitting down, she suddenly pulled out one of us and struck the match. My companion flared up quickly, only to extinguish almost immediately, leaving a glowing ember on the matchstick. We didn't know what our mistress was thinking, but her eyes sparkled with joy, and a faint smile appeared. Seeing this, we felt some of our own worries ease. But then, as she stretched her legs out, her expression turned blank as she watched the match go out. After a while, we understood: if she didn't sell us, she'd be scolded by her father when she returned home. Sighing, she struck the second match. As it lit up, her eyes brightened with joy, and her face flushed with happiness. But once again, as the match burned out, the disappointment returned. The streets had become deserted, and the chill of the night seemed even harsher. In her sighs, we understood what she was thinking: she feared the inevitable beatings when she returned, as she had before. We had witnessed this enough times to recognize the sorrow on her face. Then, without thinking, she struck the next match, and this time it seemed to burn longer. Perhaps she was thinking of the Christmas tree with its bright candles, or something else. When this match went out, she struck another one, and a blue light spread as it burned. Suddenly, she smiled and exclaimed:

- Grandmother! Let me come with you! I know the match will go out, and you will disappear, just like the fireplace, the roasted goose, and the Christmas tree. But please, don't leave me here. Before you went to Heaven, we were so happy. You once told me that if I was good, I would meet you again. Grandmother, please, ask God to bring me to you. Surely He won't refuse me!

When the fourth match went out, the illusion on her face vanished as well. She began to pull us out of the box faster, striking us one after another, desperately trying to hold onto something, afraid it would fade away. At that moment, we saw a contented smile on her face, as though her wish had been fulfilled. But soon, the space around us grew darker and colder than ever. We no longer saw her pull out more matches, only the faint silhouette of her lying on the cold ground. We felt her faint breath, understanding that she had not eaten or rested for days, thinking only about how to sell us. We felt deep sympathy for our mistress, praying that the New Year would come quickly and the night would end.

On the morning of the first day of the New Year, as the sun rose, we woke up to the bright sunlight. All around us was covered in white snow. Suddenly, we heard a woman's voice gently calling our mistress with soft taps.

- Hey, little one! Whose child are you, lying here like this?

Passersby began to gather around, curious and wondering about the small girl with rosy cheeks and a faint smile, lying among the burnt matches. After the woman gently shook her, our mistress did not respond. The woman placed her cheek against the girl's body and felt her faint breath. Without hesitation, she picked up the girl and asked someone nearby to take the basket where we were resting. About ten minutes later, we were placed on a shelf next to a bed covered in fresh white linen. On the other side, a fireplace was burning brightly. There was a flurry of voices, as though something urgent was happening. They were trying to help our mistress regain consciousness.

After about an hour, our mistress finally opened her eyes and weakly spoke when she saw the woman sitting next to her:

- Where am I?

The woman replied:

- Rest, little one. I found you unconscious on the street, so I brought you here.

- I... I thank you.

- It's nothing! I'll get you some hot cereal to drink.

Without waiting for her to respond, the woman quickly stood up and went to fetch the food.

Just a few moments later, the woman returned with a cup of hot cereal and helped our mistress drink it slowly. After eating, our mistress regained some strength and began to tell the woman her story. By the time she finished, two lines of tears had appeared on the woman's kind face, filled with sympathy for the little girl.

- Stay here with me. I will help you through these hardships and give you a better life. Let me be your mother!

Our mistress didn't answer but instead threw herself into the woman's arms, crying. Through her sobs, she whispered, 'Thank God for bringing you to me.'