For the first time in Poppy’s life, she understood why people develop irrational fears like claustrophobia. She used to think: what was there to be scared of? The purpose of life was to be placed into a small Pink Box and wait. Why would you be afraid of a tight space? 

           She felt foolish now. Everything she thought she knew as a small, uncooked piece of dough was the result of a childlike view of the world. She had never given much thought to the space behind the oven. It was always just something that was there in the background. Irrelevant. Forgettable.  

           A cold chill coming from a nearby window not only marked wintertime, but also her third month spent wedged between the oven she grew up in and the man-made brick pressing into her stale body. There, she spent most of her time wondering. She wondered what places her family members were able to explore once they got chosen for the Pink Box. She wondered how well her flavor sold, and if they were thinking about bringing it back another week. She wondered how chocolate chip was doing, and if they were still a fan favorite. But most of all she wondered if the cookies she loved were wondering about her.  

           It was a strange feeling, being forgotten. Poppy had been the life of the party. A fun, experimental flavor that brought a brand-new way of thinking to the bakery. Bubble gum on a cookie. It was unheard of. How could anyone forget? But after three months spent alone, she questioned if anyone even knew her name. With each crumb of her body lost to the endless pit beneath her, she imagined a part of her identity going with it. 

           Her plan was to spend her day like she always did; counting the seconds and waiting for the cruelness of life to finally evade her. Only this day was different. Today, she watched a familiar cookie fall victim to their now shared fate.  

           He didn’t fall for long before he became wedged in. Poppy watched him struggle for a moment before offering a single and unhelpful word. 

           “Stuck?” 

           He looked up at her, annoyed. “Uh, no. Nope. I’m just sitting like this for fun,” he said. “Who are you?” 

           “Poppy,” she reached out a hand to introduce herself before she realized they were stuck an awkward distance apart. “I’ve been down here a few months now.” The mention of her own predicament clearly worried the cookie beside her. His face grimaced with distress, though it was clear to Poppy that he was trying to hide it.  

           “Months?” He asked. “Wow. That’s…um…wow. So, you- you fell?” 

           “Nope,” her voice had the same condescending lift he had given her just moments before. “I just wanted to hang out here for fun.” He gave her an unamused frown, and she smiled in return. “What’s your name?” 

           The cookie beside her was still struggling against his newfound restraint, a fight Poppy had given up weeks ago. “Dale,” he sighed, pausing for a moment. “You’ve really been down here for months?”  

           Poppy nodded sadly and while he continued clawing at the brick. They sat in silence for the rest of the day. 

~*~ 

           Dale was a classic chocolate chip cookie. He was a favorite, brought back week after week while everyone else had to fight for a spot on the menu. Coming from a wealthy and well-known family, Dale had a bit of a superiority complex. It manifested in a few different ways, for example, the way he carried himself even while being pressed into on either side, radiated confidence. He was much fresher than Poppy was. The months being dried out by the heat from the oven had cracked her pink frosting, leaving it looking like a dry desert floor. Many of her sprinkles had fallen off and pooled in the dust below. At this point, she was simply a shell of her former self. Dale, on the other hand, had been baked the day before he fell. He still smelled like rich chocolate and warm butter, and not a single chip was out of place. 

           It wasn’t hard for Poppy to look past all that. In the weeks they’d spent together, she’d grown somewhat fond of him. What bothered her was the fact that he treated the gap between the oven and the wall like a waiting room rather than a prison. He went on and on about how sure he was that someone was coming for him.  

           “Today’s the day,” he said with a sharp exhale.  

           Poppy wasn’t sure if his mumble was directed towards her or if he was talking to himself. “What?” 

           “Today’s the day they move the oven,” Dale insisted. “They do deep cleaning on Tuesdays. They’ll pull the oven out, find me, and I’ll be cleaned off and served.” 

           Poppy didn’t have the heart to tell him it was Wednesday. Or that the ‘deep cleaning’ he’d made his savior was really just a broom pushing crumbs further back. Instead, she watched as another one of her sprinkles fell into the shadows. 

           “Look, Poppy, I get why you’re so cynical. Your flavor was a one-time thing,” he continued, ignoring her silence. “But I’m a staple. I’m a chocolate chip cookie. There would be no franchise without my flavor.” 

           Poppy let out a dry laugh. “Don’t you realize they’re not coming? I’m sure they just assumed they made a serving with one less cookie than usual. You aren’t ‘Dale’ to them. You’re a miscount in the batch.” She watched his face fall. At first, she felt bad, but then she was vindicated. For the first time since they met, he didn’t look confident or cocky. He looked scared. 

           She sighed as she thought about her first few weeks down there. The oven timer above them was the only thing breaking the silence. “Look, Dale…I’m not trying to be harsh, I’m trying to be real. Even if they did come to find you, they’d never sell a stale cookie. They bake a million of you every week. You’ll just…be replaced.” The look she gave him was a sad smile, and it carried with it something that had never been directed at Dale before—pity.  

           Dale went quiet and considered Poppy’s words for a moment. The idea of being replaced was foreign to him. His family had a long and successful lineage. Chocolate chip had been around for so long, it was the first thing people thought of when they heard the word “cookie.” His own mortality was never at the forefront of his mind. Really, he didn’t think about it at all. 

           That wasn’t the case with Poppy. She was given one week to wow the world. Her family was small and unique. They didn’t always fit in with the other cookies, but they were determined to make the most of the short amount of time they were given. 

           “I always thought that being a classic made me special, I thought coming back week after week meant something,” Dale finally whispered. “But it just makes me forgettable. I’m the safe choice.” 

           Poppy gave him a warm look. “Safe isn’t the same as forgettable. It just means you’re someone to lean on. When people have a long day, they don’t always want to try the brand-new, bright pink bubblegum cookie. They want the flavor that they know and love.” She paused, an audible crack echoing from her side as she shifted. She didn’t flinch, though she watched Dale’s eyes track the sugary dust that fell from her. “I knew my time was short. I knew my flavor was just something fun to try ‘just this once,’” she smiled fondly. “So, I made the best of the time I had. You thought you had forever, so I’m sure you never really bothered to enjoy the now. I don’t blame you for it; I never would’ve expected a chocolate chip to be down here with me.” 

           Her words hit Dale hard. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at her with a seriousness Poppy hadn’t seen from him before. He had never been the guy that wanted to have deep, emotional conversations. But after seeing Poppy slowly crumble before his eyes, he knew he had to get his thoughts across. “I’m glad you were here when I fell. I mean, that sounds bad, I know. I would never choose this for you—or for anyone!” He rambled. “I just…I think I might’ve lost it without you here to talk to.”  

           Though they would never touch each other, Poppy let her arm reach towards him. She felt weak and fragile, her body becoming staler by the minute. “I’m glad I was here too, Dale. It’s been nice getting to know you.” 

           He mirrored her movement and reached out with a sad smile. In that moment, the mixers above them began to thrum and vibrate the floor. This was something they’d gone through many times, but it was getting harder and harder for Poppy’s brittle frame to hold on through the earthquake. Dale watched a spiderweb of cracks form on her surface. 

           “Dale?” She whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the kitchen. 

           He did everything he could trying to get closer to her. His edges flattened as he fought against the brick, but it was no use. “Yeah?” He responded, his voice cracking. 

           “You’re not boring.” 

           “I- I know. I know that now.” 

           “Really, I mean it. You’re special.” 

           Dale wanted to say something again; he wanted to keep talking to this amazing, bubblegum-flavored girl forever. Instead, he watched Poppy’s center give. For just a moment, she looked peaceful before collapsing into a heap of dust with a sigh. 

           He would soon fall to the same fate, but for the first time, Dale didn’t care about being a classic. He simply watched as the oven’s cooling fans caught a bit of pink sugar and swirled them into dark corners. He was alone, yes, but he took comfort in knowing the kind of permanent mark a limited-edition could leave. Dale held onto the vague and fleeting scent of bubblegum until he, too, returned to the dust.