The Little Fire Girl

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From a 75 words or less flash fiction contest

    She reached in her pocket with her trembling hand, producing a match. Her breath escaped her mouth and danced in the cold air.

    “Matches” she called, but no customers heard. 

    She struck the match on the cobblestone. She would not let the last match burn out. The wood she gathered blazed at the match's touch. 

     She was no longer the match girl, but the fire girl. She would not die.




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