“Things are about to get very sticky for you, Burrito.”
Felipa comes to me, weeping, throws her arms around my neck.
I seize the chance. The rose is thornless, delicious; everything I thought it would be.
At once, I am ready. Felipa fetches Cruz.
“A dozen roses, then,” he says. “Every day.”
They lead me back out. Felipa places another rose in her hair.
“I love you, Burrito.”
Te amo, cariña.
Let the abomination begin.
14 | Psychopomp Magazine