A handful of children shuffled into the room, and a muted excitement filled it with them. Most of them wore colorful pyjamas which made their pale faces stand out even more, some of them still wore their hospital gowns. The last one got pushed in in a wheelchair by the head nurse to end all head nurses: Anita Finkle. She had to be closing in on her sixties, wore her grey hair in a sensibly tamed short cut and her white stocking-clad legs stomped like pistons up and down the hospital corridors.


Gerrit had applied to volunteer at the Mercy General Hospital and after a few days they called him. The call was followed by an in-person interview (led, among others, by no other than the tougher-than-nails Ms. Finkle) and once they made sure he had at least some amount of experience and had no run-ins with the law, they allowed him to help out every few days. Mostly it was entertaining the younger patients (reading to them, playing simple games, or a little harmless arts and crafts) and sometimes he came in in the evenings to help out with simple janitorial or cleaning jobs.


It was a win-win situation, really. He liked the feeling of giving back and his missed his own children, so this felt like a good compromise. Although - when he lied about not having kids himself he did feel a sting of guilt, as if he was betraying them. But you've let that life behind. It's time to acknowledge that.


Ms. Finkle parked the wheelchair, gave Gerrit a small nod and addressed the children. "This is Mr. Jameson. Hes's going to read to you, be nice." Then marched back to the door, where she turned around again and gave him a stern look. "I'll get them after 45 minutes. Don't overstrain them." Then she was gone and closed the door behind her. The Anita Finkles of this world probably never left the responsibility in someone else's hand before making absolutely sure on what terms they were passed along.


The Ogre smiled at the children. Seven pairs of eyes looked back at him. "Hello. I thought you might be terribly bored here, so I wanted to tell you a story. Who of you know 'The Little Prince'?" No one did, but by the end of the first chapter they were enchanted. Gerrit suspected it was mainly one quote that captured the children's interest: 'Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.'


The time flew by and when Ms. Finkle collected the small patients again the air was thick with suspense, wonder, and a little bit of sadness - Gerrit could almost see the emotions of his listeners hovering around them.
They were hesitant to leave, but Ms. Finkle insisted and everyone else yielded. Gerrit took a deep breath before they left, savouring the vitality the kids felt once he made them forget their boredom and pain.
He remained for a few moments, taking the time to really acknowledge the good feelings in him - as with the children, mixed with some sadness.


When he packed his stuff and left the head nurse was already back at her station.
Gerrit beamed at her and wished her a good day, Finkle pressed her lips to a thin line and wished him the same - but Gerrit knew he saw the twinkle of a smile in her eyes.