A short story about bread
The morning after the lockdown announcement, I got a phone call from my boss: “Hi, I'm guessing you’ve heard the news. Truth is, I’m not sure what’s going to happen with your position. I know you can’t work at home, but we can’t risk you coming in during a pandemic. We’ll keep you updated. Take it easy.” My partner Isaac still worked his long shifts at work which were deemed essential so I was left alone most days. At first, I didn’t mind being alone too much. I spent my extra time catching up on tv shows and reading books I wasn’t able to finish before lockdown but very quickly the novelty of it all faded. My mind started to dissect everything I did: the tv just became moving pixels on a screen, books just became words on a page. The house began to morph into a realm of hostility: the cold floor boards, the black mould adorning the bathroom walls, the rusty taps that made an awful shriek when you turned them on. I was trapped here. I began to find the oppressive