A Night of Stories

Wings

Streaming across the night sky, you might be able to see the constellation Auriga, the Chariot. Riding its bright carriage are one hundred angels, with wings of purity and blessings from God. Every so often, these angels soar down from the heavens to help a poor, tortured soul. On this particular night, they had their eye on a youngling named Kija.

Once upon a time, the little girl was trekking through the snow-covered roads of her city. She had hair the color of freshly cut straw, though white flakes dusted its every inch. She was bundled tight in her father’s patched coat, but she still shivered from the blizzarding cold. Someone had stolen her shoes, and her feet were numb. 

It was Winter’s Eve, but Kija could not go home. She had a packet of matches to sell, one coin per match. Despite the cheap price, no one would buy from her; they were all rushing to get home to their families. If Kija went home without a single coin, she would surely be punished. So she continued to stagger through the rising storm. 

Scents of roasted chicken and cherry pies wafted through the air, making Kija’s mouth water. She longed for a Winter’s Eve meal of her own, but there was not enough money for one this year, like last year, and the year before that. The only time she’d eaten a full, fancy Winter’s Eve dinner was at her grandmother’s house many years ago, before she had passed away. Once Kija managed to sell her matches, there would be nothing but an old house waiting for her, with a leaky roof and a grouchy family. 

“Matches!” she called out. Her voice was already hoarse from fatigue, and got carried away by the biting wind. Dark shapes huddled in hoods and jackets hurried steadily past her. No one stopped to buy a match. 

“Come get your matches!” she called again, this time waving the box. A man ran past, knocking it from her hands. She dove after it in the snow. A small, black box amid the swirling greys and whites. She snatched it up in her frozen fingers. 

By now, the streets were almost empty, and night was falling almost as fast as the snow. Kija stumbled down a dark alleyway, sandwiched between two grand houses, with their lighted windows and cheery atmospheres.

She slumped down against the stone wall, trembling. The thought of lighting a match crossed her mind more than once, and eventually, seeing as there was no longer anyone in sight, she succumbed to the urge. Kija pulled a match from the box, then rubbed its red tip against the rough, stone wall. 

Orange light blazed at her fingertips, and she almost dropped the match, but Kija strengthened her grip quickly around the thin wood. 

Oh, how wonderful the warmth felt! Though her breath still came out in frosty puffs, the heat from the match seemed as enveloping as the sun. The fire singed her fingers, and the tiny flame sputtered out. 

Kija glanced around, seeing only the dark night and the bright snowflakes illuminated by lighted windows. Her gaze returned to the match box. Surely using another stick wouldn’t hurt.

This time, when she struck the match against the stone, she saw a welcoming oven amid the fire. Kija leaned in for a better look. A room of ivory and gold filled her vision. Just as she thought, a stove oven burned warm and bright before her. Kija basked in the flaring heat, but alas, it was over too soon.

The match burned out, and she was flung back into the unforgiving winter night. She found herself too weak to stand, and her brain, numb with cold, reasoned that lighting another fire was the most logical thing to do. 

Another match was swiped against the wall, and this time, in its glow, Kija saw a Winter’s Eve feast spread out before her. Steaming chicken, buttered toast, baskets of fruit that shone like gems. Kija raced toward the table, picking up a hot, dripping chicken leg. Just as she was about to shove the savory meat into her mouth, the flame flickered out once more. 

Kija no longer hesitated about using up her unsold matches. Another one hit the stone, followed by another, and another. Each time she came close to trying the festive food, the vision ended, leaving a steaming fire stick in her hands. 

Frustrated, cold, and starving, Kija wrapped her frozen fingers around an entire bundle of matches and struck the stone, not even flinching away at the brilliant burst of fire that erupted in reaction. 

But the feast was gone, and its place was her family. Aunts and uncles and cousins she hadn’t seen for ages. Her mother and father and her little brother. In the front and center stood her grandmother, who had passed away many years ago. 

Kija loved her grandmother. She used to sell matches at her side, and when it got too cold, her grandmother would bundle Kija up in her coat, nice and warm. 

Her grandmother, radiating an ivory light, opened her arms, but when Kija ran into them, the large fire flicked out. As she was reaching for the last bundle of matches in the pack, Kija caught sight of a falling star, streaking across the sky. The little, white star burst, splitting into several more glowing orbs that fell from space like magic rain. 

Kija returned her attention to the matches. With the remainder of her strength, she lit the final bundle. Her grandmother materialized right beside her, watching the night sky. Her skin shone gold, and she pointed at the falling stars. 

“See them?” she whispered. Kija nodded. “Those stars are angels. They are here to guide you home.”

“But I didn’t sell any matches,” Kija complained, even as the stars spiraled closer. She saw a silver chariot, driven by winged horses and glowing balls of light. To anyone else, the angels would have appeared frightening and monstrous. They would have screamed and run away. But Kija didn’t see their horrific appearances. She saw them sparkling with a blinding light that moved her to tears and turned her vision blurry. She felt their warmth and saw their giant wings, and wondered how it must feel like to fly with those wings, and leave the world behind. 

“Come, dearest.” Her grandmother helped her up, and the matches dropped from her fingers. She didn’t notice as she was led into the starlight chariot. Up, up, up they went, and Kija saw the snow-covered city unfold below her. She waved goodbye to all who lived there. To her parents and her little brother, to the people with a plentiful Winter’s Eve feast on their tables, to the families with cheerily lighted windows. She was happy for them all, and she loved them all, for who could not love everything as they sail away above the stars?

Then, when her farewells were spent, Kija turned her face towards the brilliant heavens, her grandmother’s golden hand clutched in her own. Angels flew beside them, manning the chariot, and for the first time in her life, Kija felt true and complete peace. 

Down, down below, on the very next day, a man left his house for work, jolly and full from the Winter’s Eve night. Laying beside his doorstep was a little girl, frozen into a tight ball, with her fingers wrapped around an empty black box, surrounded by thin white match sticks, all burned out.