The Little Candle Girl on the Eyes of Father
It was terribly cold and rainy on Christmas’s Eve; the snow kept falling fast as people ran home to prepare for their dinners. In that cold and dark night, I sold candles with bared head and naked foot was roaming through the streets to sell her match sticks. There were very few people in the street; most of them were either having a good time at home or were under a shelter. I felt very cold and hungry. Worst still, I also felt tired, because I had not sold a single candle or earned a single penny all day long. Suddenly, I saw my past memories about my slippers, those slippers from my grandmother as a gift of Christmas last year. They were so big but the I had lost them running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling toward her. One of the slippers I could not find, and a strange boy seized the other and ran away. So I kept going with her naked feet, which turned red and blue with the cold. I was crying, but I did not cry about the cold; she cried about the people. No one had bought any candle from me, even gave me a penny. I had carried a lot of candles today, but all of them were still in her little hands. I dared not go home because no candles were sold. My drunken father would certainly hit me. My father, who was driven into wine after my mother’s death, he even dealt drugs . Besides, her house was almost as cold as here; they had only the roof to cover them. She had had mom and kind grandmother, but they no longer were there with her. Her mom had passed away because of cold on her eighth birthday, and her grandmother had gone to heaven because of starvation last year. Lights were shining from every window, and there was a delicious smell of roast goose for Christmas’s Eve. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Perhaps burning a match could warm her fingers. It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It gave...
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