Poor Virgil was left until last (I forgot that I had this).

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Symphony for Growing Hearts

by kaeera

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FIRST MOVEMENT: GRIEF

+Lunch+

„Look!" the little girl said, „My Mom packed me chocolate chip cookies!" She pulled out a brightly wrapped shape.

They were sitting in the cafeteria, gathered around a table with their respective lunch boxes in front of them. Most of them eyed the cookies with envy, knowing that they only had healthy snacks like apples or bananas nobody ever really wanted to eat.

„Do you share?" One of the boys asked, hopefully.

The girl grinned. „Nope."

„My Mom packed me grape juice." Another boy offered, feeling the need to defend himself.

„Want to trade? I've got orange juice; I hate that."

„Sure." The transaction was completed.

Virgil sat amidst the crowd, smiling and nodding along with the others. The boy close to him snickered and pointed at him. „Virgil's Mom didn't pack him anything!"

Five sets of eyes swirled towards him. „Really?" - „What?" - „Why?" - „Doesn't she like you?"

Virgil became smaller under the inquiring gazes and clutched his lunch box tighter. Then he set his chin defiantly. „That's not true."

„Did she pack you lunch?" the girl asked with the brutal honesty of a child, munching on her cookie.

Whatever the situation was, Virgil had been told, you never should lie. And so he didn't. „No."

„Why not?"

„Because she's dead."

There. That shut them up. Funny, he marvelled, how it became easier to say those words. They still hurt, but not as much as before, and he had kind of got used to it, like you get used to the scab of an old wound. Virgil wondered whether one day the pain would fall off him, like scabs did, but he figured that would take a while, because even Scott was still being sad and he was old.

And so he ignored the shocked faces and unpacked his own lunch, procuring a sandwich, an apple, and a delicious looking slice.

With an air of superiority, he looked at the others who were eyeing the slice with interest. "My mother didn't pack my lunch," Virgil stated matter-of-factly, "but my Grandma made me apple-pie."

That cleared, he started eating.

Fin.