The Matchbox Woman

Part 1: Matchbox Woman

❀❀❀
Part I
Matchbox Woman
❀❀❀

She came by everyday at the same early hour of dawn, and stayed well until midnight. She sold small insignificant perishables and miscellaneous, the likes of fruits, matches, and cigarettes.

She seemed to like the location near our barracks. Perhaps having an army full of soldiers so close by gave her a sense of security.

"Soldiers, security..." The irony of that thought did not escape me.

We had a nickname for her, the Matchbox Grandmother, an ode to 'The Little Match Girl'. She always had her face, hair and body covered with a large tattered burgundy wool shawl.

To be honest, now in hindsight, no one could tell exactly how old she was, however, I believe everyone just assumed she was an old woman because she walked with a cane to support her profound limp.

The fact that she hid her face contributed to the assumption.

I, on the other hand, seemed to have developed an unspoken bond with this 'old' woman.

Maybe it was due to the fact that I saw her more often than not. 

Or maybe it started the day I gave her an army blanket to brave the harsh winter last year. Right after that, she started leaving small treats for me every night without fail.

She would sometimes add an amusing note under the apple, candy, or whatever 'treat' she could spare for me that night.

I have to admit, I looked forward to it every night. An innocent distraction from the hellhole we were in.

My favorite note was that of a small, chubby dinosaur she drew hanging on to the tail of what seemed like a flying Orbiter with the words: 'I am not extinct, take me with you.' The sad irony did not escape me.

As a first class officer and system engineer, I was privileged and almost guaranteed a spot on the Orbitor. However, the majority of commoners will most likely face a grim future once the war ends. No point worrying about it.  'You can't save everyone'.

'You can't save everyone,' I have been hearing it often lately. I guess this false ideology is what keeps our conscious guilt free.

I glanced towards her usual spot and there she was, still standing there with a basket full of her merchandise. However, today I could tell something was off about her. She coughed frequently and her arms trembled violently every time she extended her hand to sell to potential passerby customers.

A particularly moody man walking down the street was startled by the matchbox woman's extended arm, which prompted him to violently push her away in disgust. "Get away from me. Have you no shame. Don't touch me with those diseased hands!"

The matchbox woman fell on the cold icy ground. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach. "I'll be right back." I told my comrade and walked towards her.

I looked eyes with the excuse of a man who pushed her, my hand on my gun. An unspoken warning that if he didn't leave within seconds, his lifeless body would hit the ground next.

He left in a blink.

"Let me help you up mam." I offered to help her up but she ignored my hand and instead turned her head away from me, and tried to hoist herself back up.

However, in that brief moment, I could clearly see her face for the first time. She had been coming here for over a year now and everyone, including me, failed to notice that she was no old lady, perhaps even a few years younger than myself.

She swiftly covered her dirt streaked face with her shawl, and nodded at me thankfully before walking away.

For the next 4 days, the treats stopped. I tried to talk to her during the long nights of my shifts. However, she always shook her head and distanced herself. I still couldn't see her face clearly, she kept it well hidden, which made me more intrigued, borderline obsessive about her by now.

I had nothing to keep me entertained beside the thought of her during my long shift.

I wanted to know more about her. However, before I could satisfy my curiosity, she stopped coming.

I waited for her for a week, but she never came back. Perhaps she found a more lucrative spot. However, deep down I knew the reason was probably not as innocent as that.

To be continued...
—————————
Give me your star 🌟 if this story sparkled with you. Comments 🫧 won't hurt either... it is all about what sparkles ✨ 💖