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The Little Matchstick Girl

Sara Pascoe - Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Once upon a time Mary Matchstick was born. It was probably snowing because it was the 23rd of February and that is a very snowy month. Mary’s mum was at the birth, her name is Mrs Matchstick although she isn't married, she puts the Mrs in front of her surname to stop people hitting on her at the bakery where she works as a baker. It didn’t stop Mary’s Dad though. His real wife has narcolepsy and he was telling Mrs Matchstick all about his problems with that when they ended up doing it. Which is naughty AND ILLEGAL. And that's how Mary was made, it’s a sad story, and that’s how you know its true.

12 years after her birth and Mary was 12. She always liked her name because it was Jesus’s mum's name, and maybe one day she might follow in her footsteps and have a famous boy child that saved the world. Mary liked to think arrogant and positive things like this because she had no shoes on, and was dying of the cold. This was back in the olden days when people died of the cold all the time, nowadays heating has been invented but some people still live outside and you should probably donate a fiver to shelter or crisis or st mungos the second you stop enjoying this incredibly good retelling of a classic tale.

Mary couldn’t afford shoes, so her legs had rotted away, and in their place, a kindly doctor called Kevin Symposium placed some extra large matchsticks for her to walk around on. The upside of this was that Mary’s legs never got fat, they were always long and thin and didnt grow hair either so uber feminine. The downside was that without shoes on the rounded red bits at the base of her legs occasionally scraped against a rough road or pavement and started a mini fire where her feet should be and Mary would have to put it out by spitting as much as she could. NOT VERY LADY LIKE AT ALL. So obviously Mary didnt have a boyfriend, which was good because she was only 12 and at that age you should be concentrating on school work and not chasing boys around, especially as that would start tiny leg fires for sure.

Anyway, it was the 24th of December, and Mrs Matchstick went down the to bakers to work, which was on Robin Avenue near the cinema, but a terrorism secret cell had left a bomb there and when the ovens heated up, Mrs Matchstick exploded along with 6 customers and her boss Mrs Sainsburys. Mary heard the explosion and ran towards the site where the bakery used to stand. It was just a crater. Mary was now completely alone in the world, it was the day before christmas and she was only 12 and she had wooden match legs that were BURNING, BURNING ON FIRE FROM THE RUNNING. Mary looked down but she could not be bothered to spit, what was the point? Instead she looked at the last place her mother at been on this earth, as the flames engulfed and gulped at her woody limbs, and they didn’t stop there, tentacles of fire tasted her torso and wanted more, stretched to her shoulders, ate her hair, kissed her eyes and pulled her down into a hot puddle on the ground.

“poor little matchstick girl” said a passer-by who would have stopped to help but he was carrying a tasty goose and didn’t want it to get cooked a day early, hahaha!


And the secret terrorists were never found...


podcast about writing and that

Sara Pascoe - Thursday, May 22, 2014 


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