THE FRAGILITY OF THE MATCHSTICK

This is the eleventh time I have woken up today. In our line of business, all we do is wake up and feel fear. When I woke up, as usual, I looked left and I looked right to make sure my neighbours were still there. They have been with me since the beginning of time, and they’ve always been there when I wake up. I call them he and she. We do not have any names because our time here is very short.

I was one of those, along with he and she, who was lucky enough to be born at the bottom of the hierarchy. We are the elite. We are those who have a little bit of control; a little bit of choice. We can push those at the top around, and exert our will a little bit. Ultimately though, the real power belongs to the buyer. He can pluck us out from the bottom and end our lives with as little as a stroke of his hand.

They say the buyer bought us to die. That is all we were born for. At the end of the day, we are all going to die; one way or the other. We have no choice. We cannot fight back. We cannot move. We cannot escape this rectangular box that we call our planet. It is our job to die for the buyer. Whatever we do on this planet is inconsequential. When our time comes, we will all burn. When our time comes, the fire will burn us from head to toe, and we will feel excruciating pain, and we will die.

I’ve been lying down here for what seems like millennia waiting for you. I’ve been waiting patiently. Even though sleep is my calling, I don’t sleep anymore. More than five times a day, I see that little glimpse of sunlight, but you never take me. You always leave me lying down here wishing it was me. You always take another. And I always know. And you know I always know. There are these tender little moments when it seems that you’re going to lean in. That the lucky bastard is going to be me. But here I am still lying down at the bottom of the box, the bottom of the hierarchy. The lucky one. I will be one of the last to die. I will be your friend for a long time. We will talk and we will share moments, but you will not take me. Because I am at the bottom of the box. I am the last on your list.

I would burn for you. I would willingly jump to the top of the box for you. I want you to hold me in your hand. Burn me. Break me. Toss me away. Use your pretty feet to walk all over me. That’s what I want. That’s what I was created for. Don’t leave me in the box. Take me. Use me. Burn me. Kill me.

What can I do? Nothing. I can’t move. I am a paraplegic. I can’t tell you how I feel. I’m a mute. I can’t catch your attention. I am too little in your eyes. I can’t make you come to me; you determine where I go. I am but a matchstick in your hand.

That is how you make me feel; like a matchstick. A man with the fragility of a matchstick.