Muffin Time


Are the muffins as innocent as they seem?

Alexis Bello, fiction contributor

It’s the year 2199 in New York City. It’s been ten years since the outbreak of the mutant muffins. 

At first, people hadn’t taken this invasion of walking breakfast treats seriously. Until they began to kill.

Three days after the walking-mutant muffins broke out of a lab in the Big Apple, the muffins abruptly killed a small Italian family passing through Little Italy. 

From that day on, ten years later, the muffins have controlled the city. New York City had been put in lockdown ever since the incident.

No one enters, no one leaves.

The invasion has created two types of people: Those who go out and fight, and those who hide and whimper.

I’m a fighter, unfortunately.

Allow me to introduce myself: My name is Jason Merkons and I’m a 38-year-old scientist. I work for the Liber Laboratory of Chemical Research located in Queens. Well, at least I did.

To be quite honest, this whole thing is my fault. Let me explain. 

In 2189, I was working on a fluid substance. Not just any substance, but one that will turn any inanimate object into a living being. In the creation of this substance, I used a mixture of the nerve cells of a donated corpse, chloroplasts from plant cells, nuclear chemicals from bombs, and a few other things.

Once I completed my compound of chemicals, I poured a drop of it onto a chocolate chip muffin. 

I didn’t expect anything too major to happen once the chemical infiltrated the pastry, but then something jaw-dropping happened.

A pair of arms ripped through opposite sides of the paper surrounding the muffin. About a second or two afterward, a pair of legs shot out from the bottom of the muffin.

“Holy ship,” I uttered.

The muffin began to walk around on the sparkling-silver tray. A minute later, it looked straight at me with two yellow eyes with huge black pupils.

“Hey,” said the muffin.

Nervously, I replied, “Sup.”

The muffin began to ask me a series of questions (what is it, who is it, where is it, why is it here, etc.)

I showed all my coworkers my creation. Surprisingly, everyone was very impressed and proud of me. No one freaked out. 

I brought my creation home that day. 

I showed it around my apartment. I showed it my bedroom, kitchen, living room, office, bathroom, etc. 

I named it Chip.

I prepared a little corner for the little guy in my living room. It was a wholesome situation. 

That night, before I got ready for bed, I went to go check on him. 

Once I found him, he was just sitting there. Blankly.

Chip look up at me and smiled. 

“Watch this,” he said excitedly. 

Chip then started to tense up. This lasted for about thirty seconds. All of a sudden, POP!

There were two muffins.

That right there was the beginning. The beginning of a time of what we call, “Muffin Time”.  The city has been infested with a massive army of muffin people.

I’ve been fighting and slaughtering these things back and forth every day. Every day had been the same thing. Until today.

On a Sunday morning, I was walking around Times Square hunting for muffins. 

I found a teenage boy, probably around 15, sprinting from a screeching group of muffins. 

“Help,” yelled the boy. “Help!”

I pulled out a raygun from my belt and blasted them. 

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said in relief.

“No problem, kid,” I replied. “You better get out of here.”

The boy ran away.

I walked over to investigate the mess I made. As I did that, I began to feel a vibration on the ground. I looked up and felt my heart drop. An entire mob of small mutant muffins charged in my direction. A mob that filled up the whole city.

I felt my knees getting weak. I began to shake, sweat excessively and lost my ability to speak.

Is this the end? Am I really going to die from an army of muffins? I’ve been fighting this war for the last decade and I’ve never felt this emotion of fear. 

“Hey,” someone yelled from behind me. “Take this.”

I turned around, shocked,  and was greeted by a group of five people. It consisted of three men with identical curly brown mustaches, and two girls with one having blue hair and the other having red.

They threw me an object. I look at it for a few seconds, confused as can be. Then I realized what it was. A milk gun.

I quickly turned around to see where the muffins were. They were about half a basketball court away from me.

I felt the group of people gather up behind me as I loaded up my milk gun.

“You know what time it is?” one of the girls asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s muffin time!”