Darcy sat staring into the distance, faintly recognizing the ache in the pit of her stomach as hunger. The knawing of it only brought back memories; memories Darcy could never seem to exorcize:
Little Darcy watched with her hands folded neatly in her lap as all of first graders raced to grab lunch boxes and brown paper bags from their cubbies, the class aid, Mrs. Peterson, yelling after the few excited kids who had run out the classroom door in eagerness to get to the elmentary cafeteria. Little Darcy stared down into her lap, her uncut hair curtaining her vision of her classmates lining up and filing out the door. Little Darcy felt as if there were maggots in her belly, nibbling away at her, making her feel sick to her stomach. She had not eaten a scrap of food in three days; Mommy said she got no food this week, for being bad, for going out to play with the kids in her neighborhood when she thought Mommy was asleep. Little Darcy clutched her stomach futively, bile in the back of her throat, and fatigue in the set of her shoulders. She let loose a little whimper as tears fogged her eyes. "Darcy?" Little Darcy looked up and saw her teacher standing in front of her. "Aren't you supposed to go to lunch with the rest of the kids?" Little Darcy nodded, sliding out of her desk. "Yes, Mrs. Reynolds," she said, sniffling. She walked to the door. "Darcy?" Mrs. Reynold's called to her. Little Darcy turned around. "Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?" Her first grade teacher stood there a moment, and Little Darcy swore she saw a hint of hesitation pass over her kindly face. "How about you eat lunch with me today? I have extra crackers from snack time," Mrs. Reynolds said. Little Darcy grinned from ear to ear, and spent the rest of lunchtime happily snacking away on peanut butter and crackers at one end of Mrs. Reynold's desk while she told Darcy wonderful stories of a city that sat by the ocean; one that never slept.