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Autobiography of a Matchstick

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I and fifty of my colleagues were firmly packed in a small box called a matchbox. After being packed the box was sent to a shop for being sold. While inside the matchbox, each one of us had a tough time as, we were all cramped in a limited space and at times we even found breathing a strain. At that time all of us prayed that we come out in the open, relax and breathe freely. We were all getting choked in the limited confines of the matchbox.

Even knowing that, as soon as I come out of the box, I would die, I still wanted to come out of the box. However, luck wanted it different. I lay in the box with my colleagues for a month in the shop. One fine day a customer bought the box and now, I was convinced that soon I would be able to see the light of day. However, luck does not seem to be in my favour. The master has bought many matchboxes and, I cannot imagine when I will come out of this dark den. Now, each one of us in this matchbox is waiting for its turn and the moment of achievement. Here, after just about three or four days, without a long wait my matchbox was taken out by my master. Lo! and Behold! I was the first to be taken out in the free air. My master took me out of the matchbox and lit a cigarette with my flame, and threw me in the ash tray. That single moment was so very exciting and fulfilling that, I can never forget it.

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The moment went off in a jiffy but, has left on me the stick a permanent impact. After I was flung into the ash tray, my active life was no more. Though my life of activity and utility is over, as a plain stick I still live along. May be for a day or two more I will be in this house before the servant throws me out of the house into a dustbin. I am presently enjoying my last few moments in this house, seeing the house, hearing my master, mistress, and children chat with each other. May be in just a few more moments, I will be thrown out and I will have to bid adieu to the family.

The thought of being thrown out of the house gives me a feeling of remorse and I wonder how long I will stay in this useless shape, worth nothing. I will live in a dustbin in the midst of rubbish, smell and other companions who are all rendered useless by fate. The end of this stick as a stick, I do not know what it will be but, this is certain that now fate has nothing good in store for me.

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