I Wish

Chapter One

Ginger glanced out of the window. Her hands grasped the windowsill of the old cottage. Winter had settled in, and the cottage was colder than ever. Papa had died a year ago, and since that horrible day in September, life had been harder than ever. She peered out of the window, only to see the ground blanketed in snow. Then, suddenly, her eyes laid themselves upon a red object. Ginger threw the door open and ran outside, only stopping to remember that she was still dressed in her rugged short sleeve shirt and torn jeans. Turning back, she snatched the one jacket off of the coat peg and ran to the object. An apple lay in the snow. Her hands clasped around it.
Round and smooth. Ginger pressed snow onto the apple, which slowly melted and made the apple shine. She could imagine the taste now. Fresh, crispy, possibly even a little bit sweet. She couldn't wait any longer, and she sunk the flesh of the fruit into her teeth. The taste was the most beautiful thing in the world. Fresh and sweet and new. To her seven year old eyes, just the sight of the apple had been enough, and the taste was treasured. Every single bite of it was treasured until all that sat in her hand was a core. She headed back into the cottage. The table was set, but to her dismay, nothing but a few pieces of bread and a few pieces of dried meat were laid upon it. She knew that they, her family, were very poor. But the meals grew worse daily. Proceeding Papa's death, the first few meals had been the same, buttered buns and juicy pieces of beef and sweet berries and lush vegetables, which slowly downsized to smaller portions of the same extravagant meal, and slowly into just bread and beef and fruit, down to week old bread and dried meat from that summer long ago. The bare table gave Ginger a stomachache just by looking at it, but she forced those bites down. It would be better than nothing.Better than starving at least.
Starving. Her nightmare, her fear for a lifetime. The thought of her young self not receiving any food was enough to keep her up for hours at night. The thought invaded her daily thoughts and her nighttime dreams. She cried herself to sleep so often just thinking about the lack of food and woke up screaming from the thought too. She was already skin and bones, her every rib showed under her shirt, but at least she was being fed. The thought of never having enough to eat or potentially nothing to eat at all made her wolf down whatever food there was, for the fear of not receiving any the day after.
Sunset was always the best time of the day, when the first stars would come up. She'd peer out of the window and she'd look at the brightest star and wish that she could have food, or a family who could provide her food. It was not an unreasonable wish, as the poor child deserved more than just table scraps each night.
Then one day suddenly Mama fell ill, and the little money that her sewing business was providing for the family halted to a stop. All their money combined was not even enough to afford a bottle of medicine that they needed. Told that the illness would lead to death if not treated with the proper medicine, Ginger only grew more worried than she already was about food. The table was no longer set these days, rather, a block of bread was placed on it each morning for the two of them to share. The lifestyle continued on for a matter of two weeks, until one day when the clock struck eleven and Mama closed her eyes for the last time. She never returned. Ginger had buried herself into a little corner and sat there for two days with no food and no water, found collapsed on the ground by a police officer.
The journey up to Boston took two days by train, only for Ginger to find that she was now in an orphanage, where despite the harsh treatment, at least she was fed a buttered bun, oatmeal, and fruit three times a day. However, she still longed to be at home with her Mama and Papa, and often thought about how wonderful her days had been before Papa's accident and the wonderful times she had had at home.
Often wishing of a better life and of a better place, Ginger spent her days in the orphanage constantly peering out of the window, her hands clutched the small windowsill of the orphanage as she had done the day that she had found the apple. To her dismay, the only sights that the orphanage offered were those of the power plants. Throughout this constant time of disappointment, the tree in the yard gave Ginger immense comfort. Although the tree did not bear fruit, it brought immense joy into her eyes. The tree brought memories back of the old peach tree, which sat in front of the cottage. During winter, its branches were barren, layered with inches of snow. The tree bore fruit all through the spring and summer months, although for the past few years after Papa died, Ginger was unable to ever take a bite of the precious fruit, which she instead brought to the market to sell. The fruit was worth quite a bit of money, which allowed them to buy fresh bread from the bakery for around a year. It was rather precious to Ginger and her memories, so she would spend her free time in the courtyard, her eyes resting on the tree.
Ever since she had been brought to the orphanage, she would constantly be out and about, sweeping the floor, mopping up the spills, polishing windows, and doing other labor. Not only did she despise this work, but the work also only diminished what little health she had. Eventually, Ginger grew so desperate for the food that she began to steal the other orphan's portions. Her starvation fear only increased during the timespan.
That Thursday in the middle of her second year staying at the orphanage, the tree in the courtyard suddenly bloomed. Its leaves suddenly grew green and within a matter of days the red fruit, the apple, appeared on its branches. Ginger glanced around, to find that no one was within sight. She let out a sigh of relief. She rushed over to the tree and picked the apples off, one by one, until she had seven or eight. Ginger stuffed her pockets full of the fruit, hid one in the cuff of her jeans, and smuggled the remaining apples up her sleeve.

End of part one