Derrota's Burrito

Belly. Ache. Rumbling, empty, as if the dreadful afternoon of an inactive day had not haunted her enough already. Waking up from her slumber over the couch, Derrota sat up and wondered what to do. Nothing came to her mind, however; she didn't even remember what she had at home to make food out of. There wasn't even anything that could be grabbed and eaten with no effort, condemning her to prepare something. Jumping off the couch, she headed off to the kitchen.

Thorough inspection. Fridge, cupboards, everything that had anything kitchen-related, to find numerous ingredients. At that moment, something stood out in her mind, something she had everything she needed to create.

A burrito.

---

Tortilla. Done. Out the pan, onto a plate, enough work to make her break a sweat. At least that part was over, though the table would need to be cleaned off all that flour earlier. Not like there was anyone to complain about it, so Derrota let it be.

Now it was time to prepare the contents. She walked to the fridge and rummaged within, taking out a sizable cut of meat, but as she closed the fridge and glanced at where she had left the tortilla, her expression froze solid. A peaked cap with crab legs was upon it, freezing in place as well as the two took notice of each other's presence.

"...Bitch!" Shouted Derrota, rushing to the table about to swing the cut of meat like a whip, but it was too late, the hat-crab had grabbed the tortilla and escaped through the kitchen window.

Standing there, she sighed in exasperation. Leaving the cut on the table, she reached over and closed the window, locking it shut.

---

Another tortilla. This time, it'd not enter through the window. Since it didn't hurt to play it safe, she brought her gun with her regardless, a flintlock carbine slung over her shoulder.

Again she took the meat out of the fridge. Put on a plate, and start chopping. Once it looked good enough, she put it all on a prepared pan and put it over the flame.

From bright red, to a browning color. Spices thrown in, vegetables, everything up to her taste regardless of what anyone says, till she came to the realization that something was missing from the table. The lime. Leaving the pan on the flame, she rushed to the fridge to take one out, but upon closing it, there she found the dreaded hat-crab again about to pounce on the tortilla, freezing in place like before.

"You!" She shouted, dropping the lime and taking her gun, shooting it its way as it threw itself into the sink for cover. With her rushed aim, she had struck the window, shattering part of it and only creating an escape route the hat-crab immediately used.

At least it didn't take the tortilla this time. Still, Derrota could not tell where it had come from, at least till she glanced around.

The kitchen door's window, leading to the garden just like the earlier window. Open, of course.

'Shit.' She cursed in her mind.

---

All done. The smell was captivating, enough to make Derrota paranoid of another of the hat-crab's attempts. Not ten seconds passed between each glance to the dish-covered window hole or any other entry, locked shut or not, till she took the pan off the fire. The tortilla still remained where she had left it, a victory at last.

Carefully place the finished product on the tortilla. Fold. Roll. Place on a dish. A smile from ear to ear grew on her. There it was, the perfect burrito she brought to the still flour-smeared table of which only a spot had been cleaned, the spot she sat at.

But as she was about to take a bite, she heard tapping on glass. Turning to see what it was, she saw that dreaded hat-crab again, though this time on the other side of the window, not attempting to enter through the dish-covered hole. It just stared, its little legs resting against the window frame and its eyes like those of a sad puppy. But it didn't move. It didn't try breaking in. It didn't do anything, as if pleading.

Sighing in infinite irritation, Derrota stood up and removed the dish from the window, to then return to her burrito with a knife and slice it in two. To the hat-crab that so joyously entered the room and jumped on the table, she handed half. Though not planning to, it turned into dinner for two.

THE END