No. 62
THE BURGER.
By
Ian Hawley
Rob put his tray on the table and sat down
with a sigh. “I don’t like this seat. We can’t see outside.”
“It’s the
cleanest table in here.” Farrah shrugged as she opened her burger and started
to pick bits of gherkin out, dropping them onto the edge of the tray.
“If
you didn’t want Gherkin, you should have said.” Ian replied as he picked the
piece up and put them on his. “I don’t know why you don’t like them to be
honest. It’s just a pickle.”
“It’s
the same reason she doesn’t eat mushrooms, she thinks they’re slimy, like
eating slugs.”
“They
are.” Farrah objected. “And I am sat right here you know.” She said as she continued
to pick pieces of lettuce and onion from her food.
“What
did you get?” Rob asked, peering at the burger. “There’s a lot of cheese on
that.”
“It’s
to disguise the flavour.” Ian smirked. “Processed cheese never changes.”
“I
had a dream about you guys last night.” Rob interrupted. “You ever get those
dreams when you stuck in an old job you used to hate and you can’t figure out
why you are still there?”
“No.”
Ian shook his head. “My dreams are usually about food.”
“Explains
a lot.” Farrah smiled as Ian threw a half cooked French Fry at her. “I don’t
dream. Never have.”
“Never!”
Ian looked shocked, “You most probably do but don’t remember them then.”
“No.”
Farrah shook her head again. “Well, not for a...”
“Excuse
me. I was talking.” Rob interrupted, bringing the conversation back on his
track. “It wasn’t open to general debate.” They both fell silent.
“That’s
better.” He grinned. “Anyway, I was stuck in my old job and I ended up killing
my old boss.”
“How?”
Ian asked. “How did you kill them?”
“Boredom?”
Farrah suggested with a smirk.
“No,
I pushed him out of the window.” Rob chuckled. “Watched him fall to his doom
from the fifth floor, what do you think that means?
“Well,
for me it means I’m not falling asleep near you.” Ian replied as he pushed more
fries into his mouth.
“Maybe
you need a break” Farrah suggested. “Maybe you’re looking for something simpler
out of life.”
“You
think?”
“Don’t
know really. I don’t dream, remember.”
“If
I was to kill my boss I’d poison there food.” Ian offered as he wiped ketchup
from his chin. “Eat up Farrah.”
“Na,
I don’t want to finish this anyway. Even my drink is flat. I don’t know why we
continue to come here.”
“It’s
because the front door is lockable and the windows haven’t been smashed in yet.”
Ian replied. “And if you don’t like my cooking then you can do it next time.”
There
was banging on the doors downstairs and Rob pulled his bloodied machete from
its sheath. “I told you I didn’t like not seeing outside.”
“Come
on then.” Farrah pushed the tray away from her. “There can’t be more than
twenty zombies out there. That’s not really an issue.”
“Yeah,
I guess not. Same time next week?” Rob asked.
“Sure.”
Ian swung his baseball bat round as he warmed himself up. In the distance he
could see more of the dead shuffling towards them. “Remember to limber up, a
sprain could kill you.”
“So
could your cooking.” Farrah laughed as she led the way downstairs. “Last one to
kill a zombie cooks next week.”
No comments:
Post a Comment