PIPER’S PAIN
By
Sarah Kelderman
Piper wanted and craved her job every day. It was like a drug. That needle in her arm and heart, that rush as she entered internet land and the virtual bakery where she worked. She was aware of her body—laying on their mattress, in their dingy studio apartment downtown. It smelled like mold and fried fish, and she heard the constant drip from the rusted faucet, but she also could smell the bakery—the bread and donuts and cake and other sweet things, and it was warm, and she heard laughter and talking and music.
She made little.
But she craved this place.
Used needles and syringes were all over their moldy carpet.
Isaac tried to keep their apartment as tidy and clean as possible, but it was hard when your apartment was moldy and drippy and smelled like a wet dog and fried fish. He tried to make sure she ate properly. He worked in real life, at the shipping yard nearby. He rode his bike to work. He was as pale and thin as she, with blond hair and brown eyes, and Piper loved him so much it hurt to look at him.
Together they lived and loved and survived.
Piper woke to rain outside, dripping and dripping, and thunder, and Isaac stirred beside her, beneath their thick blanket. He was warm, and she snuggled closer to him.
“Let’s not go in today,” he said in her ear.
But she craved the needles and the aromas of the bakery and the rush and high.
Isaac’s job at the shipping yard would be miserable today, with the rain and thunder.
He hugged her closer to his warm body.
“I have to go in.”
“I wish you would get a different job,” he said. “You could get a job in real life, at a real bakery. Your job isn’t healthy.”
No. It wasn’t. It was like a drug. But they’d already had this conversation many times before.
“You know I don’t want to,” said Piper. I’m addicted, she wanted to add, but didn’t. He already knew anyway. “And we need the money.”
“We don’t need the money that bad,” said Isaac. “You can take just one day off.”
“Yes we do. Look at where we live!” snapped Piper.
Isaac stiffened beside her.
“Fine,” he said, getting out of bed, leaving a warm, empty spot behind. “I didn’t think that mattered to you that much.”
“Well, maybe it does,” said Piper. “I mean, maybe I use my job as an escape.”
Isaac frowned.
“If that’s how you feel,” he said.
That wasn’t how she really felt. She wanted Isaac to come back. She wanted that empty space beside her filled again. Surely she could take just one day off. But he was already in the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on. He got ready for work in silence—dirty jeans and holey shirt and knit sweater that was too big on him, and he helped her get ready for work, like he usually did.
They turned on the computer program together. They took a fresh IV needle out and hooked it up. One shot in the arm and one shot in the heart, and Piper felt that intense rush and high and was transported to that virtual warm café that smelled of donuts and sweet things.
Normally Piper and Isaac said goodbye and Isaac kissed her on the forehead, but this morning he didn’t, and he left in silence.
Piper lay in bed, but she also worked in the café on her feet, baking bread and serving customers and watching the news—tornado weather today, and wondered if Isaac would be sent home early. She wrote happy birthday on a cake with blue, glittery icing and made bold, neon flowers, and Maxwell, her virtual boss—a balding man with a mustache—nodded in approval, and proudly slid the cake to the rotund mother who had requested it.
Why couldn’t she just get a job in a real bakery?
That thought haunted her all through her shift. The virtual world offered her an escape though—an escape from her dismal surroundings, but shouldn’t Isaac and their love be enough?
By the end of her shift it had stopped raining and all was silent in the apartment, besides the constant drip from the rusted faucet. Piper disconnected herself, wincing a little, and the apartment was empty. Where was Isaac? Normally he’d be home by now. Dread filled her. Something was wrong, and she remembered their silence and the emptiness she still felt on his side of the bed, which was now ice cold, and the tornadoes she had heard about on the news at the internet café.
She heard a knock on the door.
It made her flinch. No one knocked on their door.
She jumped out of bed, wearing only her bra and undies, and quickly changed into an oversized sweater and baggy jeans. She opened the door.
A grim police officer stood there.
“Piper Hemming?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just, please come with me, ma’am,” he said.
The police officer took her to a bleak, black building, made even more bleak and black by the dark clouds still in the sky. He led her down a staircase that smelled of antiseptic and death and led her to a room, where the rusted metal door was shut.
“There was an accident at the shipping yards,” he said. “We need you to identify a body.”
He opened the door, and there lay Isaac, blue and thin and naked and cold and dead, and Piper stared in shock, barely believing her eyes.
She wanted to curl up next to him on that cold slab and fill up the empty space beside him and make him warm again.
This story originally appears in the Kindle Vella short story anthology Quetiapine Dreams, which can be read at: Quetiapine Dreams | Kindle Vella (amazon.com)
By
Sarah Kelderman
Piper wanted and craved her job every day. It was like a drug. That needle in her arm and heart, that rush as she entered internet land and the virtual bakery where she worked. She was aware of her body—laying on their mattress, in their dingy studio apartment downtown. It smelled like mold and fried fish, and she heard the constant drip from the rusted faucet, but she also could smell the bakery—the bread and donuts and cake and other sweet things, and it was warm, and she heard laughter and talking and music.
She made little.
But she craved this place.
Used needles and syringes were all over their moldy carpet.
Isaac tried to keep their apartment as tidy and clean as possible, but it was hard when your apartment was moldy and drippy and smelled like a wet dog and fried fish. He tried to make sure she ate properly. He worked in real life, at the shipping yard nearby. He rode his bike to work. He was as pale and thin as she, with blond hair and brown eyes, and Piper loved him so much it hurt to look at him.
Together they lived and loved and survived.
Piper woke to rain outside, dripping and dripping, and thunder, and Isaac stirred beside her, beneath their thick blanket. He was warm, and she snuggled closer to him.
“Let’s not go in today,” he said in her ear.
But she craved the needles and the aromas of the bakery and the rush and high.
Isaac’s job at the shipping yard would be miserable today, with the rain and thunder.
He hugged her closer to his warm body.
“I have to go in.”
“I wish you would get a different job,” he said. “You could get a job in real life, at a real bakery. Your job isn’t healthy.”
No. It wasn’t. It was like a drug. But they’d already had this conversation many times before.
“You know I don’t want to,” said Piper. I’m addicted, she wanted to add, but didn’t. He already knew anyway. “And we need the money.”
“We don’t need the money that bad,” said Isaac. “You can take just one day off.”
“Yes we do. Look at where we live!” snapped Piper.
Isaac stiffened beside her.
“Fine,” he said, getting out of bed, leaving a warm, empty spot behind. “I didn’t think that mattered to you that much.”
“Well, maybe it does,” said Piper. “I mean, maybe I use my job as an escape.”
Isaac frowned.
“If that’s how you feel,” he said.
That wasn’t how she really felt. She wanted Isaac to come back. She wanted that empty space beside her filled again. Surely she could take just one day off. But he was already in the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on. He got ready for work in silence—dirty jeans and holey shirt and knit sweater that was too big on him, and he helped her get ready for work, like he usually did.
They turned on the computer program together. They took a fresh IV needle out and hooked it up. One shot in the arm and one shot in the heart, and Piper felt that intense rush and high and was transported to that virtual warm café that smelled of donuts and sweet things.
Normally Piper and Isaac said goodbye and Isaac kissed her on the forehead, but this morning he didn’t, and he left in silence.
Piper lay in bed, but she also worked in the café on her feet, baking bread and serving customers and watching the news—tornado weather today, and wondered if Isaac would be sent home early. She wrote happy birthday on a cake with blue, glittery icing and made bold, neon flowers, and Maxwell, her virtual boss—a balding man with a mustache—nodded in approval, and proudly slid the cake to the rotund mother who had requested it.
Why couldn’t she just get a job in a real bakery?
That thought haunted her all through her shift. The virtual world offered her an escape though—an escape from her dismal surroundings, but shouldn’t Isaac and their love be enough?
By the end of her shift it had stopped raining and all was silent in the apartment, besides the constant drip from the rusted faucet. Piper disconnected herself, wincing a little, and the apartment was empty. Where was Isaac? Normally he’d be home by now. Dread filled her. Something was wrong, and she remembered their silence and the emptiness she still felt on his side of the bed, which was now ice cold, and the tornadoes she had heard about on the news at the internet café.
She heard a knock on the door.
It made her flinch. No one knocked on their door.
She jumped out of bed, wearing only her bra and undies, and quickly changed into an oversized sweater and baggy jeans. She opened the door.
A grim police officer stood there.
“Piper Hemming?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just, please come with me, ma’am,” he said.
The police officer took her to a bleak, black building, made even more bleak and black by the dark clouds still in the sky. He led her down a staircase that smelled of antiseptic and death and led her to a room, where the rusted metal door was shut.
“There was an accident at the shipping yards,” he said. “We need you to identify a body.”
He opened the door, and there lay Isaac, blue and thin and naked and cold and dead, and Piper stared in shock, barely believing her eyes.
She wanted to curl up next to him on that cold slab and fill up the empty space beside him and make him warm again.
This story originally appears in the Kindle Vella short story anthology Quetiapine Dreams, which can be read at: Quetiapine Dreams | Kindle Vella (amazon.com)