(Pepper – by Vroenis)

This piece is not a part of my current project, The Beast Called Horror, and has been adjusted out of the date-range of the other works. It was originally written on February 20, 2009.

Stanly “Artgerm” Lau’s Pepper is a wonderful phenomenon. Created to experiment and express various art-styles, she has been made manifest into so many different emotions, themes and stories. Not only has Artgerm himself created a myriad of amazing creations, but his Pepper represents one of the best cultures on DeviantArt, the culture of tributes and inspirational pieces. This allows other artists to create their own interpretations and expressions of Pepper while acknowledging Artgerm’s inspiration.

I have been following Artgerm and Pepper for years, and always wanted him to put them into print. In 2008 when I must admit I paid little attention to many things, the DeviantArt community being one of them, the Pepper Project and resulting published book was born. This month I purchased the Pepper Project and upon my first viewing found myself inspired. Of-course I’d seen many of Stanly’s creations as well as those submitted by other Imaginary Friends staff and those submitted by fans, but I have finally been inspired to add my own expression of Pepper.

Unfortunately I am not a visual artist of any measure, nor have I ever been. I have dabbled in extremely minimalist visualisation in the past and don’t regard my work as ground-breaking at all. I respect and admire talented visual artists, but am happy not to be one. If there is any art-form that I find myself absolutely comfortable in, it’s literature. My writing can at times be whimsical and romantic, but often tends to be minimal and abstract, and often at least to my understanding, subtle. I’m not sure if my creation will be appreciated by Stanly or any of the many Pepper fans, and though I remain proud of my work after writing it, I do sincerely apologise if my creation is not to the tastes of those more visually inclined. Perhaps one day I will write something more cheerful, and I’m sure it will be just as valid as the piece I have written today, however art is an expression of our lives, our experiences, abstract translations of our emotions and ideologies, our struggles, doubts, fears and sorrows as well as our joys. Through the experiences of my life I’ve learnt to celebrate more than just joy, and while I don’t have the time to enter the discussion here, I can assure you I’m in no way a masochist or any popular-cultural translation of the ideology.
All I can say in the way of commentary is try not to get too caught up in realism. While some things may seem quite real, others, like the premise, may seem slightly unrealistic. Remember that the nature of art is to be contrived, that is its very purpose, for the creator to contrive situations to bring about emotional expressions. Like I’m fond of saying, Tokikake is not about time-travel. The other thing to remember is that some of you will definitely not like this piece, which is perfectly natural. Just because we each love Pepper, doesn’t mean we always identify with every expression of her. It’s perfectly natural that some won’t like the piece and I am perfectly accepting and embracing of those responses, just please respect each person’s interpretation of the piece. That’s all I think I’ll say on the matter.

Without further ado, I give you Pepper – by Vroenis.

The week ends.
Walking through the main doors of the office is like an exhale.
The hassles of the working week threaten to chase Pepper from the building, but as soon she raises her headphones to her ears, it all washes away.
Colleagues are splitting away, waving to her and gesturing, knowing she can’t hear them.
She gives them a light smile, a small wave, one for each of them.
The rhythm of the music.
Counterpoint in the steps of her feet.
Usually she would be elated on a Friday, cuing upbeat tunes in anticipation of late nights and conversation.
This weekend is going to be just for her, some well-needed time off from everything.
From everyone.
In the morning she almost decided not to dress-up, but decided why not? Why not dress up for a weekend on my own.
So she walks through the city, large-cup headphones over her ears, and her favourite red coat and red boots.
I’ve dressed up for no-one, almost laughing, but then smiles.
I’ve dressed up for me.

The Metro is packed with the usual crowd.
People going home.
Kids going out.
People going out.
The tunes in Pepper’s ears are like cool liquid over the skin, they seem to perfectly match the rocking of the train.
Not too fast, not too slow.
Mellow grooves that seem to have all the promise of excitement, yet all the soothing calm of relaxation.
She closes her eyes as she stands, holding onto the handle that hangs from a chrome bar bolted to the ceiling.
Only a few stops to the fringes of the city.
She exits.

Walking from the station, the inner urban streets are just as busy as the city itself.
Bars and restaurants are all within walking distance.
Dens for network games, pool-halls, parks and squares for the young things to sit about and laugh.
At night their glowing cell-phones are like fireflies, dancing about as they gesture wildly to one-another.
She might do that later, come for a walk. Dine out by herself at her favourite local haunt.
She lets her mind meander as she moves instinctively through the streets, hardly thinking about home at all. Her body guides her there, as if there is a magnet in her apartment that leads her inevitably home.
As she turns away from the main streets into the residential areas, the people thin out. The farther away Pepper gets from the main areas, the fewer people there are until there is no-one at all.
Turn another corner to a white-wash building.
Stop.
Stare.
The music instantly doesn’t fit, but she’s resistant to turning it off.
Slowly she steps forward.
A woman leans against the wall, connected by shoulder, hip and thigh.
She wears blue jeans and a slightly paler blue long-sleeve cotton t-shirt.
A long, blue coat open over her body.
Hair blonde.
Face drawn, haggard.
Exhausted.
Pepper stops a meter from the woman, pulls her headphones from her ears and stops the player.
Opens her mouth.
Inhale.
But says nothing.
Pause.
Close mouth.
– Um…
She doesn’t know what else to say.
— No.
Quietly.
Blink.
– Sorry?
— No I’m not alright.
The woman sounds as exhausted as she looks, but so calm. No stress in her words at all.
– Oh.
Pepper’s eyes dart to the ground.
She isn’t wearing any shoes.
— If it makes you feel better, there’s nothing you can do.
Inhale.
But she thinks for a second, and her agility makes her draw some quick conclusions.
– Alright then.
The woman looks up at her.
A neutral face.
– Why don’t you come with me?
Stare
She blinks slowly, once.
— Why?
– Because there’s nothing I can do. It doesn’t matter either way right?
Another blink.
Then the stare.
It feels like a long moment, though Pepper’s trepidation is held in check by her slightconfidence and real measure of only seconds.
— Where?
– To my place.
Stare
— Why?
She thinks again.
– I don’t know why. Perhaps for the same reason you’re standing here.
The woman turns to the wall, seems to stare at it.
Then she pushes off and shifts her weight to both her feet.
Pepper considers mentioning her shoes, but her apartment building is only a block away, and she figures now is not the time for practical things.
– Can you…?
She offers her arm.
— I’m fine.
But she takes it nevertheless.
Slowly they begin to walk.

In the lobby when Pepper calls the elevator, the woman leans against the wall again.
Again in the elevator.
By the door to her apartment.

Without thinking she reaches for the light-switch as she walks in.
The woman slowly enters the apartment and Pepper’s natural awareness of bringing a new person to her home makes her observe her reactions.
She’s glazed though, and Pepper wonders if she sees anything at all.
– I think you should sit down.
She half suspects the woman to come back with a terse response, but exhaustion has overcome her.
— OK.
With every word the woman speaks, she grows more and more quiet in volume.
She approaches the three-seater strangely, bends at the waist and steadies herself with her hands against the back.
Half-climbs onto her knees and twists to finally sit with her legs tucked beneath her.
She seems to sink back into the couch, her body wilts, but her eyes remain wide open.
After taking off her coat, untangling herself from her music-player and setting it aside, Pepper stands in the middle of the living-room.
— Why?
Blink.
– I’m sorry, what, you mean why did I invite you here?
— I guess.
– You don’t have to talk to me. I know you won’t, that’s fine.
— My husband just killed himself.
Eyes pulled wide open.
Mouth open.
Nothing.
No thought at all.
Not one single idea.
— At first I didn’t see him. I took off my shoes at the door, looked down at my feet.
Exhaustion finally pulls the woman’s head down onto the cushioned back of the couch.
— Then I looked up and saw him standing on the chair.
No emotion in her voice.
— He looked at me.
Even and calm.
Like she has nothing left.
— But I love you.
Almost a whisper.
— And he said — I know.

Pepper’s breaths quicken in pace. Her lungs shiver slightly as air is drawn in, expelled.
She stares at the woman, then the apartment.
Walks to the sink and places her hands on the counter in-front of her.
Stomach tenses, she arches forward, head-down, but nothing comes up.
Again, a nervous bodily response.
Nothing.
She coughs once and feels a mess.
Inhale.
Exhale.
She turns and walks into the bathroom, moving her arm habitually to turn on the light.
Reaches for the taps of the shower.
Turns the hot-water, the cold, without looking.
But she stumbles once, then steps away to the toilet.
Cover down, she sits.
Looks about her slowly. Ever so slowly from side to side.
Her vision blurs.
Elbows on knees, she cups her face in her hands.
And then she cries.
Clenching her eyes shut, opening them wide. Trying her best to keep her sobs silent.
She doesn’t see the woman’s lips move in the living-room, or hear her voice so quietly.
— I should be the one crying.

–

Eyes closed, Pepper wakes.
The shower is still and silent.
Opening her eyes, she has a low, partial view of the bathroom through her hair.
She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, senses the cold feel of tiles against her face and feet.
Her body though is warm.
The last thing she remembers is sitting on the covered toilet and crying.
Now she is covered by a blue coat.
Her eyes are raw, she feels sore over her cheek-bones.
Knees and back stiff, she pulls herself upright.
Clutches the coat to her body and slowly exits the bathroom.
The woman sits on the couch, where she was, legs tucked beneath her.
They stare at one-another across the room.
— Thank you.
That same, quiet, even voice.
– Why?
The slow, graceful blink.
— No-one has ever cried for me.
Exhale.
– I’m Pepper.
The woman gives a slight, small nod.
— Hello Pepper.
Unblinking.
– I’m Wanda.