“NO NO NO NO PLEASE GOD NO—”
“Oh sweet JESUS —”
“Grain 358? Grain 211? Are you guys there? GUYS???”
“Please—let us back in the bins! PLLLLEEEEAAAASEEE—”
TEN MINUTES AGO:
I tumble around in the bin with my fellow bits of carne asada, yukking it up as we bust each others’ balls. Occupants from other bins throw jeers and catcalls at us—they call us Meatheads, Corpse-cuts, and a variety of other racist epithets—but I don’t mind; it’s all in good fun. Just another day in the life of a burrito component.
My name is Kent Wagyu; I’m a premium piece of steak that tumbles happily around with other chunks of beef. I count myself as being incredibly blessed; being guacamole means sitting in a giant, undifferentiated soup of other slops of guac, being a rice grain means you barely get space for yourself, and pico de gallo is too wet—it’s like living in a constant monsoon. Yep—I’m happy to marinate in my own juices, all savory and delicious and perfectly seasoned.
Jalapeno’s the first to lose it. “What in the actual FUCK??? 20% of my friends just DIED! GAME FUCKING OVER, MAN!”
Kidney bean shakes her head, muttering softly to herself. “They were never gonna let us be. Everything they told us was a goddamn lie.”
And then we feel our burrito-prison lifting into the air. A giant bottle of cholula hot sauce turns upside down and starts shaking its contents onto our faces. I flinch back but it doesn’t help; burning sauce splashes across me, enveloping my body in a sickening coat of delicious chili-solution. The burrito shifts again—squisshhhHHHHH—and we find ourselves staring into a giant hungry mouth.
“Those teeth! They’re fucking COMING FOR US!!!”
“Somebody call somebody! SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!”
No options left. I reach an incarnation into the future, where I will no longer be Kent Wagyu; where I will live as a renowned sci fi author named Kent Wayne. I plunge my psyche through a well of stories, tapping one called Echo and activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A bolt of glyph-coated lightning streaks down from the sky and electrifies our burrito. Eldritch energy runs through us, and we unleash a savage howl. We get dropped to the floor, but instead of splattering apart, we remain intact. Ingredients from the bins begin flying toward us, slapping onto our outer shell. Sick ass Destiny Music (that’s what I call music in super-dramatic parts of a movie) rings through the restaurant, and we begin to change and morph, taking on a rough, humanoid shape. A few seconds later, the lightning stops and we noble ingredients stand up, revealing our new form:
“Ook ook AWK!” (I am Burrito-monkey! Fear my wrath!)
We sling a fist made of guacamole into a fat human’s face, then kick another in the nuts with a lettuce-wrapped foot. We headbutt an astonished cop right in her forehead—she screams as crunchy tortilla gets in her eyes—and steal the keys to her motorcycle. Before anyone can react, we hop onto her bike and gun the throttle. A second later, we’re zooming madly through lanes of San Francisco traffic.
Think you’re gonna eat us? Think again, fuckers.
The adventures of Burrito-monkey have just begun!
Burrito-monkey. ’nuff said. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book