The Children’s Train

The sweet, almost forgotten smell of the orange awakened Inge. She sniffed. “Is that really an orange?”

“Yes, isn’t it beautiful?” Eva said.

Lory turned over and stared at the orange. It really wasn’t even a very good orange. It was wrinkled and no longer firm. It had lost its sweet tenderness a long time ago. It was just an orange peel, containing what used to be the promise of a fragrant fruit.

“Did you find that in the warehouse?” Lory asked.

“No, it’s from my father,” Eva whispered.

“You still have a father?” Inge asked, more amazed. Eva nodded.

“Can I have a piece of it?” Inge held out her thin hand, so pale it showed the blue veins through her skin.

Eva shook her head. “It’s a birthday present. I want to make it last, maybe tomorrow.”

Eva clutched the orange to her chest and fell asleep. The precious birthday orange remained unpeeled.

“Happy birthday, Eva,” Inge said, as she lay awake next to her, too hungry to go to sleep.