My Burrito and I

by James Green-Armytage

 

            That was when they found me. In my architecture of discarded newspapers. I lived in a newspaper house with my companion, a bean and cheese burrito with smile-face I drew on it with a marker.

            Anyway, the dog-faced men found me then. I was dreaming about the robot-filled future when dog-faced Jonathan picked up the newspaper off my head and addressed me. I said for him to go fuck himself and he took out his ray gun.

            “Go ahead, shoot me dog-faced Jonathan,” I cried.

            “We’ve come to kill you and throw out your newspapers,” said dog-faced Steve. “Join us or die,” he added.

            I put the burrito in my pocket.

            So it was that they took me to the underground place where the ghosts and machines live (if it can be called living). “This is where we turn alive happy people into dead crazy robots,” said dog-faced Jonathan, showing me a small depressing room. I tried to bite Jonathan on the neck right then and take away his laser gun, but the robots themselves kicked me and knocked me down.

            “Don’t you see, bad robots, that they have no power over you except from you?” I said. They put me in a prison cell. “Stay there and think about the wrong you did,” said dog-faced Jonathan, and shut the door. It was dark and the prison cell people were strange; they all spoke in yells and screams to me while all facing in the opposite direction. “Well, hi, you’re the new guy…we don’t like you, no, not us, not anybody, booo!”

            Well, I just said nothing and took out my burrito. “Well, burrito, it’s just you and me,” I said.

            “Don’t worry about your troubles,” said the burrito, smiling.

            “Hmm,” I wondered. “Maybe if I ate you, burrito, it would bring me good luck.”

            “It probably wouldn’t,” said the burrito. “Besides, I am very rotten and diseased.”

            “I am gone,” I said and tried to force the huge burrito into my mouth. “Yaaa, let go!” said the burrito, and tried to fight back, but I was too strong and I ate it up, messily burrito guts spilling all over me. I felt a little strange, but I was confident about getting good luck and maybe powers.

            “Where did you get that burrito?” demanded snot-dripping guy.

            “That was my last one,” I said, now noticeably sick and uncomfortable. I slumped into a heap against the wall, muttering “I’m sorry, friend burrito, I’m sorry.” I’m no good to anyone at all, I realized as all the juices started to ooze and flow out of my body. “Oh, what a world, this is the end,” I said.