"Amish Possession in a Moe's" by Lexi Spino

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Wearing the personality of a plastic angel

carrying a tray of processed bullshit

to shove down a throat begrudgingly

around the corner to a table.

My hat is sliding off to the right of my head again.

I’m trying not to think about all their eyes on me

about how ridiculous it must seem to see someone

so thrilled to be a manager of a burrito shop

and it is ridiculous

because nobody is actually thrilled to be a manager of a burrito shop.

I just got good enough at acting to fool everyone

sometimes even myself

but not tonight.

Not this week.

I am not convinced on my contentment here.

I can see through the plastic angel bullshit.

So if I can, they all probably can, too.

So I’m trying not to think about all their eyes on me as I turn the corner

carrying a tray of processed bullshit and

fuck this stupid fucking hat it has never fit me correctly

curse my god damn rectangular head.

Find the girl and lock in.

I almost stumble over my enthrallment as I lay my gaze on her.

When I rang her up there was nothing special about her that stood out.

I mean, no offense, but the amish tend to be pretty average and easily forgotten.

Now, in this moment

she's awkwardly standing alone at the table

just standing there

slightly off

as if the floor right in that spot has a sudden drop to the left.

She is sideways, yet straight up.

She appears to be swaying, yet motionless.

Eyes fixated onto the table as if it is a crystal ball and

she is seeing the future of everyone in here play out before her.

Her face is twisted.

Demonic.

A god damn demonic amish girl

here in my burrito shop.

Must be my lucky night.

I feel an odd rush of excitement come over me as I

head towards this being and

it's almost as if she knows

like she can feel my presence coming

like she saw me in the crystal table.

She snaps her head up and locks eyes with me

cocking her head slightly to the left, smiling.

The kind of smile that happens in horror films

right as the girl seduces the guy and then

when he thinks he’s about to score

she slashes him into bloody pieces.

And I could fuck her right now and here.

Right on her crystal table, in front of them all.

Let them all see just how thrilled I am

in this moment

to be the manager of a burrito shop.

But all that happens is me almost dropping her food everywhere

as I clumsily fumble the tray onto the normal red wooden table.

 

“Thank you,” she says meekly

sitting down, looking quite average and forgettable again.

 

“Enjoy,” is all I can manage to squeak

as I quickly spin around and rush

back behind the counter

fixing this damn fucking hat on my stupid rectangular head

recentering the personality of a plastic angel

heading for the next tray of processed bullshit.

 

“And would you like anything to drink with that, sir?”