Have you ever thought of reading a story told by a matchstick? Well, today you will, because today I will be telling you our story, of all the other matchsticks living with me in the matchbox.

The matchbox in which we lived lay on the kitchen slab. Everyone in the kitchen, like pots and pans, knives and spoons, felt sorry for us as they thought our purpose is to burn ourselves to light the stove, that’s it. That’s what they thought, but on the other hand, we felt proud of burning ourselves because this is the purpose of our life. Our way of thinking is totally different from theirs.

Whenever anyone opened our box and took out any matchstick, each one of us wanted to be picked. Those who were picked and successfully lit the stove felt triumphant and those who were left behind waited eagerly for the next time. I was left behind every time someone opened the box, so I too was anxious to get the opportunity.

Most of my friends and family members had served their purpose and very few were left inside the box, so I was hopeful to get the chance any time now. It was one fine day, when I finally got the opportunity. I was so happy to fulfil the purpose of my life, but then just at that moment all of my happiness faded away for the lady accidentally dropped me.

Due to the slippery floor I rolled into a small crack in the corner of the kitchen — I felt like crying. The lady could not find me, so she took out a new matchstick to light the stove.

I watched as the flame came out. I was completely heartbroken for I knew I would never get the chance to light the stove again. If I could, I would have cried with tears.

The family who bought the box of matches in which I also lived contained five members: the father, the mother and their three children. The eldest was a girl, named Shaheena and the second was a boy named Arif; the third was a 10 year old girl named Maria. She was very different from her other siblings. She was always lost in her thoughts and didn’t talk much, but she had a special bond with us non-living things. It was as if she could understand us.

One day, Maria came into the kitchen to help her mother. She was cutting potatoes when her beautiful grey eyes fell on the slab, which was dirty.

“Mum!” cried Maria “Look how dirty these slabs are. Think of how they must feel.”

“Oh Maria,” said her mother, “I will ask the maid to clean them but let me remind you for the one-thousandth of time, non-living things can’t feel.”

That’s why, every one of us loved Maria dearly. Even in my wooden heart, I believed that she was the only one that could help me out from that dark crake I was laying helplessly in.

One day, the maid was busy cleaning the kitchen, the mother was busy cooking food, while Maria and Shaheena were helping their mother. I was watching them all when suddenly, I saw Maria leaning towards the crack in which I lay. Then she sat down and pulled me out gently.

“Oh my!” she said, “How could you poor thing lay there. Mummy, look at this poor matchstick! He must’ve been lying here for days. Just think of how it must feel.”

“Mariaaaaa! I’m sick and tired of you feeling this way. Non-living things can’t feel. Your talk gives me a headache,” and with that, she walked out of the kitchen.

Shaheena and Arif laughed and shouted, “Maria has no brains!”

“They will never understand me,” said Maria sadly then her gaze fell upon me, “Now you poor matchstick, let me help you,” she said and then lit the stove with me.

I watched her unblinkingly. She brought me close to her face and said “Farewell my friend. You have served your purpose.”

Every matchstick in the world wants to be burned, the feelings which I was experiencing was splendid. After lying in that small crack for such a long time, it was like entering heaven from hell. The last thing I remember are Maria’s grey beautiful eyes staring at me, then slowly and gently, the fire finished me and I went to sleep.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 7th, 2020