A Match Stick
I am obviously a very very insignificant item of daily use for man but, at the same time man cannot dispense with me also. Though my life when I am used is just for a moment my pleasure is that, I die in a flash. I face no hassle of long hospitalization, no long sojourn in a bed etc. I die within a flick, and that is the best part of my life. When in use I die instantaneously, but, before that specific moment, my life can be long.
I am a small matchstick and am made of the cheapest wood available in the market. On the tip of my length, there is some chemical pasted which burns when hit against the chemical on the side of the matchbox. When I burn, though I get pain, I provide some solace to the person who lights me. I light a candle, a stove to cook food and a cigarette. As soon as my work is done, I am of no use to man and he just throws me in a dustbin. It is just for this single moment of utility that I, and my colleagues wait for weeks and even months. I was made in a factory somewhere in South India. 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. 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.