AN/:

More fairy tale stuff. Don't mind me.

This is all un-betaed because it wasn't really a serious writing for me, so please feel free to point out any stupid errors.

Thanks you, and I'll get to updating my actual story soon. Dx

The day was just beginning to wind down, little flakes of snow danced down and settled on the forms of people walking in the street. All were preoccupied on one thing: getting home. After a busy day at work in bad conditions, the citizens of Russia were pleased to go sit at home by their roaring fires and caring families.

That is, most of them.

Wandering the streets of town was a tiny boy, no older than fifteen, gently poking the arms of the passerbys. His face was ruddy from the cold, his threadbare clothes soggy from snow. Most people were too rushed to even take notice of the boy, and who would? He was hardly anything to look at, the poor thing. He blinked up at a man with clothing that smelled of smoke and tugged on the sleeve, hunger in his eyes.

"E-e-excuse me, b-but would you like-"

Before he could even finish his request, the man had walked away, the warmth of his body gone with him.

His teeth chattering, the boy jumped from foot to foot. Each shoe was delicately made from sheep's wool and leather – the nicest thing that he owned. His guardian had allowed him to get proper shoes after he'd proven that he could make money. He'd sold fruit, flowers, cigarettes, firewood, and now matches.

Matches. For whatever reason, no one wanted to buy any this year. The boy chewed the inside of his cheek, waving the bundle of matches around aimlessly. If he didn't come back with any money, he'd get beaten again…. Since when were matches so hard to sell? How come he could see fire inside every house even though not one person had bought a single match?

He shuffled up the street some more, then attempted again, this time pulling a policeman to the side. "L-look at these! Do you w-wa-wanna buy one?" He asked desperately, holding out the bundle of matches in a way that he hoped would make them look attractive to buy.

The man glanced at him, then shook his head and gestured to his own bundle of matches in his pocket.

…Oh. Maybe matches just weren't in high demand? Trying not to cry, he meandered away, being drawn to the bright windows of common people.

Ah, to be wrapped in a blanket like that! A little whimper of longing sounded in the back of the boy's throat as he watched two brothers curl up by a welcoming fire, the flames illuminating the room cast a warm light across the room. They were leaning against each other, one yawned as the other pulled the blanket closer around them. The boy on the outside gazed in, his eyes as large as dinner plates.

He watched as the brothers drifted off into sleep and as a man walked into the room, looking like he had just come home from a busy day at work. A smile graced the man's face when he eyed the two before the fire, and he stooped down to kiss them.

The man's eyes flickered upwards and he eyed the match boy in the window. Instead of sympathy, a look of disgust crossed over his face. In a few swift movements, the window curtains were drawn and the boy was ripped from watching the scene, all the light in his eyes drained.

His eyes lowered and he walked on, making his way into the street. He attempted to sell to carriage riders, but all he succeeded in was getting his foot run over by a cart wheel.

Now whimpering, the boy stumbled over to the curb to survey the damage. After he slipped off his precious boot, he began to rub his foot. It seemed to be in pretty bad shape – it was bent awkwardly and one of his toenails was displaced. Great, just great.

Heaving a sigh that an old man would utter, the boy fumbled for his boot, but realized that it wasn't where he had put it. Frantically, he stood up and surveyed the area.

His shoe was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, the boy's lip began to tremble, his foot hanging limply by his side. He would never forgive him for losing that shoe, not ever! Not only that, he couldn't just go home – he hadn't made a cent from his matches.

With a shuddery breath, he hobbled along the road, his foot poised above the ground like a crane's. Unfortunately, this made it hard for his other shoe to stay on his foot, and that soon fell off, too. Frustrated, the boy attempted to grab it back up, but a child that looked much better off than he snatched it up, holding the other shoe in her hand. A grin was plastered across her face.

"Mommy, look! A matching set! Aren't I lucky?" She called to a woman off to the side, holding both shoes above her head like a medal.

"Very nice! Look, they're really well made, too, sweetie – looks like I won't have to buy you new ones," the mother replied, a tired smile on her face.

The girl pouted though, and the match boy watched them walk away. "Mommy, come on! I can never have too many shoes, right?"

With a blink, the boy realized that he was now shoeless on a cold Russian night. Sure, he could go after them and gently point out that those shoes belonged to him, but he really didn't feel up to it. Knowing how people liked to treat him, they'd give him a dirty stare and walk off….

Was he not worth anyone's time?

Deciding that walking around was getting him nowhere, the match boy settled down on a stoop on an abandoned house. He blew some warm air into his hands and rubbed them on his feet, shaking his head free of snowflakes every so often.

Nothing he did was ever enough – his body was still freezing.

Uncertainly, he glanced at the matches in his coat pocket. In theory, he could grab one and light it, just enough to warm his toes. Just enough to be warmed up, just a little bit.

He battled with himself. Using the things that he was selling would be wasteful – not good at all! Then again, he was feeling pretty lousy, so it certainly would help….

He decided against it, but just as a sleigh raced past and sprayed a mound of snow his way, causing him to feel much colder than he had before.

Great – he couldn't not light a match now, could he? Whimpering, the boy pulled one match out of his bundle and struck it against the rough wall, satisfied when the little flame began to breathe life into the landscape around him.

The match's flame throbbed like a heart may, taking on its own being. It seemed sentinent – moreso than the shuddering child holding it, anyway. Calmed by its presence, the boy smiled for the first time in days, allowing its menial warmth to flow over him.

If he shut his eyes, he found that it felt much warmer – that the effect was much greater. If he shut his eyes and allowed his mind to wander, the effect turned even better.

In a moment, the boy was in front of the giant fireplace in his guardian's house. Next to him were his two brothers, both looking blissfully content.

The three were splayed out, absorbing the warmth of the fire. A creak in the floorboards let them know that someone was coming into the room, so they all looked up. The match boy saw his guardian, holding four mugs of piping hot chocolate. All boys perked up and reached out their hands for the drink. His older brother got one. His other brother got one. He reached up his own hands and tried to wrap his hands around the mug….

And then the light went out, shaking the boy back into the stoop in his bare feet and his soaked clothing.

With a sigh, the boy put his head on his knees, tucking his feet into his body. It had been nice while it lasted, but that was only a fantasy. Normally, home relationships were much more strained than that….

The match boy resumed looking out into the crowd, occasionally waving his matches, but everyone was going in by now. He was pretty sure that no one would take notice of a child huddled on a stoop.

After watching the world go by him, he began to shiver again. Surely if no one would buy the matches, he could use them, right?

The match boy selected another match and ran it against the wall once again. He shut his eyes gently, allowing himself to drift off again.

He was now in their dining room, seated at the chair that his guardian normally sat at. The big plush backing served as a great cushion for his sore back. Candles burned pleasantly and made the giant roast duck glow before him. He looked across the table at the face of his brothers, and he smiled at them, pleased with how full and happy they all looked.

The boy then reached for a slice of the tree cake that was sitting pretty on the table, no doubt made by his oldest brother. His mouth watered and the boy reached for it, his fingers outstretched so beseechingly…

…but the illusion didn't stay for long. His fingers curled around midair, doing nothing but grabbing a handful of cold snow.

With another shiver, the boy slumped against the brick and huddled into a ball. Why couldn't it be easier to go home…? Cautiously, he poked his head up and stared up, his normally vibrant eyes as dull as the sky above him. The snow was falling in greater amounts, sometimes mixing with the wind and causing little flurries in the air above him. It was beautiful, but not something the boy wanted to see at the moment.

Coughing slightly, he decided to chance one more match – just one more couldn't hurt, right?

With a pffsht, the match came alive once more.

As the boy looked down the road, he caught sight of a boy in shorts and a t-shirt, a hat placed carelessly on top of his head. Despite his outfit, he didn't look cold in the slightest. In his hands he carried a lantern, the flame dancing inside playfully.

Stopping short, the lantern boy looked over at the match boy. Their eyes met, and the match boy felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Raivis? Is that you? Man, you look really cold!" With vigor, the lantern boy trotted up to his friend, his arm outstretched helpfully.

The match boy took it gingerly and hoisted himself up. For whatever reason, the presence of his friend made him feel somewhat stronger. "Well, I was, but I don't think I am anymore," the match boy said, a faint smile starting to form on his face. "I thought I'd never see you again! After that man took you away from your dad, I thought…" he trailed off, seeming to disregard what he was saying even as it came out of his mouth. "Well, I guess that doesn't matter, does it? What matters is that we're together again, right?"

The lantern boy smiled at the other boy. "Yup! Now, I'm staying at my dad's house again. Wanna come with me? We can pretend to eat his yucky scones but really hide them in his pillow case," he said, his large eyebrows lowering at the thought of his father's cooking.

"How about you do that and I watch?" The match boy was laughing slightly, something that he hadn't heard himself do in years. He brushed himself off a little bit, clearing his body of some snow that he hadn't realized was on him until now.

His friend nodded. "Sounds great to me!" His voice echoed through the street oddly. "Come on then, take my hand. We're going together, right?"

For whatever reason, the question made the match boy incredibly nervous. His heart began to pound wildly against his chest, but his friend still had the pleasant look on his face. This wasn't a nasty trick that his caretaker was playing on him. This certainly didn't feel like one of the illusions from before, either. Swallowing, the match boy took the other's hand. Once he had done so, he felt much lighter – as if he could fly if he so wished it. Any hesitation that had been lodged in him before seemed to have simply disappeared.

Laughing shrilly, the match boy walked hand-in-hand with the illusion of his best friend, leaving his cold body on the stoop behind him.