The following was a short story I originally wrote for the Paid Stories 2019 Christmas Anthology. It is a modern retelling of the Little Match Girl from Hans Christian Anderson with a character from my 'Redemption' series, Sonny.
Mattie was the only one working on that cold December night after her manager went home sick. Despite the temperature, she wore a tight skirt and an even tighter tank top. Not that it was her preferred wardrobe, she was more comfortable in a hooded sweatshirt and leggings, but it was the best way to get tips in the rundown bar on the wrong side of the tracks. Besides, she wouldn't be able to wear such form-fitting clothes much longer given her condition.
With only a half-hour to go until closing time, she was counting the minutes until she could lock the door and turn off the outside lights. Her feet were killing her and all she could think about was curling up on her couch with her cat, a blanket, and a cup of hot chocolate, but first, she had to get rid of the last four customers.
None of them were her regulars who must have decided to drink at home rather than face the cold winter storm that promised to drop several inches of snow on them by morning. Too bad, these men couldn't have done the same.
Near the door were three loud guys who must have been former frat bros given their obnoxious behavior and stupid inside jokes. They had stupid nicknames for each other that she'd heard countless times but promptly forgotten, in their place she'd taken to calling them Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
At the corner booth with his back to the wall sat a grizzled man in a faded red coat. He had long blond hair and a scraggly beard, both with streaks of grey. The man finished his short glass of whiskey, not saying anything as he cautiously eyed the room. In fact, he'd said the same two words to her all night; whiskey and neat, which was fine by her. Though she tried to be professional and friendly with all her customers, occasionally they crossed the line past playfully flirting and got touchy. She'd have none of that and from experience had smartly kept her distance from the three frat bros, much to their disappointment.
She'd just dropped off another whiskey at the corner booth. The man had nodded his thanks when Huey called her over.
"We'd like to cash out now."
"Sounds good." Internally, she sighed in relief. She fished the check pad from her tiny apron and tore off their bill. "Here you go."
Without looking at it, Huey retrieved a credit card from his wallet and held it out to her. "I trust you."
"Great. I'll ring you out."
The card slipped from his hand as she went to grab it.
Huey said, "Oops. Sorry."
"No problem." She bent over to get it.
As her fingers grasped the edges of the card, a stinging slap landed square on her butt. She yelped involuntarily before she could clamp her lips tight against the pain. Crap, that hurt. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time that happened to her in this hell hole, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but god damn she hated it each and every time. Why did everyone have to suck?
The three guys covered their mouths and giggled like schoolgirls as she fought the urge to rub her sore backside.
Instead, she raised her hand to slap Dewey back across his stupid face. "Asshole."
But before she could, the biggest of the three, Louie, snatched her hand in his big meaty paw and squeezed. The bones in her knuckles ground together like ice in a blender.
