Hot Pocket
I was starving and I longed for something delicious that required minimal effort.
I scanned my freezer. I didn't feel like hot dogs or lasagna and I polished off the last Swanson Salisbury steak the previous night.
Hidden under a bunch of popsicles, I found a collapsed, ice encrusted box of Hot Pockets. I opened it up and found one straggler inside.
I felt like I'd won the lottery.
I removed the plastic wrapping and held it up to my nose. Even frozen it smelled good, like a hug from grandma.
I grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and determined that this was the perfect meal.
I inserted the Hot Pocket into the microwave and set the timer. I luxiarated for two minutes as I watched my future supper spin through the glass window.
My dog sulked in front of her empty food dish.
"Sorry buddy! Let me eat real quick and then I'll grab you something."
The microwave dinged and I removed the steaming envelope of warm dough.
I put it on a plate, grabbed a fork and a knife, and sat down at my kitchen table.
That's when my Hot Pocket began acting strange.
I was poised to cut into it when my supper started moving.
I watched stunned as it spread its doughy lips and emitted a rasping cough. It sprayed bits of marinara sauce on to the plate.
"What the hell?" I said.
It began to rock back and forth and then made a sound like a mucousy old man clearing his throat.
It stopped moving and I prodded it with the end of my fork.
"The promised one! You have rescued me from my frozen prison, as has been foretold!" It had a man's voice, with hints of an English accent.
"You're welcome?" I said. It felt like the appropriate thing to say. Years of post-secondary education failed to prepare me for unexpected culinary conversations.
"I have come with a dire warning. The future of your species is in peril and only you can prevent utter destruction!"
I took a long draw from my Dr. Pepper.
"You understand you are a Hot Pocket, right?"
"I have no doubts about my identity. It is not the vessel, but the message that should concern you. Moses spoke to a burning bush. I am no different.
"Alright, I'll bite." The Hot Pocket flinched. "Sorry, bad word choice. What is it you want to tell me?"
"There is one amongst you, a local inhabitant. He works at same grocery store from which you rescued me."
"The Save On Foods?"
"Yes. Now he stocks the freezer, but years from now he will be a renown microbiologist. He will lead a research team that will discover horrible truths that, once unleashed, cannot be contained. His discovery will result in worldwide epidemics of smallpox, ebola, and the black plague. The spread of fatal illnesses will cripple civilization as you know it."
That was pretty heavy, especially coming from the animated mouth of my supper.
"And what do you expect me to do about it?" I asked.
"You must kill him. If his life ceases now, his future discoveries will remain unknown."
"Wait, what?" I spilled the remains of my soda and ran to grab a paper towel. "Are you asking me to kill some minimum wage punk?"
"It is the only way. And it must happen tonight. Tomorrow he leaves for university and you will lose your opportunity."
I shook my head. "There's no way I'm going to kill someone. I don't even like stepping on bugs. It's just not in me."
"You must. This is your destiny and the only way to redeem your bloodline."
"My bloodline?"
"Yes. Back in 1923 a plate of wiener schnitzel warned your great-grandfather about a certain German corporal who would go on to do terrible things. But he failed to act and millions died as a result."
"That is the stupidest thing I ever heard," I said. But then I remember what my grandma always told me, about how her father couldn't deal with his 'regrets.'
"If you fail to act, you will watch everything you hold dear collapse around you. And you will know that you could have prevented it."
"Okay, let's say you are right. How am I going to kill this person? I don't even know who they are!"
"At exactly 8:15 tonight he will exit out the door marked 'Shipping and Receiving.' He will find a shaded nook and smoke a marijuana cigarette. That is when you will strike."
My mind reeled. I didn't have it in me. Certainly there were times that I'd wished certain people would die, but never in a million years did I expect to be the agent of their destruction.
However, if what the Hot Pocket said was true, then I could save the world. This was a lot to take in at once.
"Won't the police come after me?" I asked.
"Yes, they will. Do not be alarmed. I will explain everything. Bring me to them, and the truth shall set you free."
"Alright," I said reluctantly, "I'll do it."
"Excellent!" The Hot Pocket quivered with excitement. "May I ask one additional favor? My brethren are trapped in the same icy dungeon from which you rescued me. Please, we must reunite!
"I'll do what I can," I said. I patted my dog on her head. "Okay buddy, I'll be back real soon, alright?"
I hopped into my pickup truck and drove off.
An hour later I parked in a unlit shadow behind the grocery store. It's 8:14 and the future microbiologist should be out any second.
The large door rattled open and I saw someone emerge.
He didn't look like a threat to global security: he had thick black glasses, a goatee and he held a large textbook. He looked around before retreating behind a wall. I watched his face light up as he lit a joint.
I scrutinized him from the darkness of my truck as he leafed through his book and took another drag.
I can't do this, I thought. I don't even have a murder weapon. What did I think I was going to do? Walk up and punch him to death? Strangle him? I didn't really think this through.
After five minutes, he stubbed out his pot on the wall, stood up and started his walk back to work.
I noticed he left his textbook behind. I got out of my truck, bent over and picked it up. The book was titled "An Introduction to Microbiology."
All doubt drained from my mind. This was the individual whose hubris would topple everything humanity had built up over the course of millenia. I had to act.
"Hey!" I shouted. "You forgot your book!"
The guy turned around. He had a sheepish, recently-baked look. He walked back towards me and he saw the book. "Oh hey man, thanks for that!"
Then I bashed his brains in. The book was four inches thick and had to weigh ten pounds. It felt like I was swinging a rectangular sledgehammer.
Each impactful blow sucked the life out of him. I continued until he stopped breathing.
It's done. I dropped the blood spattered textbook. I dragged the corpse back to the wall and propped him up so it looked like he was just sitting there.
On my way back to the I truck remembered the talking Hot Pocket's request. I still had to rescue his fellow Hot Pockets.
So I parked in front of the grocery store and bought every single box they had. It cost me $450 and they almost overflowed out of the back of my truck.
I used the self-checkout machine because I didn't want the cashier to see me covered in fresh blood.
Ten minutes later I'm back home.
I immediately notice there is a problem. The talking Hot Pocket is missing. I frantically scan the kitchen.
Then, from behind the corner, I hear my dog chewing on something. I find her in her bed as she's taking the last gulp of the talking Hot Pocket.
If only I'd fed her. . .
"Oh shit," I said
That Hot Pocket was my get out of jail card. I needed that talkative frozen pastry tell the police that I wasn't just some deranged killer. This was a major complication.
Wait. The other Hot Pockets. If I cook them up, maybe they can speak on his behalf!
I return to my truck and, over the course of a dozen trips, I haul every box into my kitchen.
Then I start cooking them up. Microwave, toaster oven, conventional oven. I use them all.
After three hours I have hundreds of Hot Pockets scattered all around my home, on plates, on shelves, on tables and on the floor.
And not a single one spoke.
That's when I heard a loud rapping at the front door. I looked out the kitchen window and I saw the telltale blue and red lights of the police.
It was too late. I was screwed. Worst of all, I was still starving.
So I grabbed a random Hot Pocket and took a ravenous bite.
It was cold in the middle and it started crying.
Credited to batouto
| Comments • 0 |
Loading comments...
|
