Harold walked into one of the local Tatama Supermarkets,  unsure of what he was expected to do next.

He had a wallet overflowing with twenty dollar bills (he had just cashed his weekly work paycheck), & he had a particular desire for gorging on his favorite snack food; chips and salsa.

Harold walked slowly down the snack food aisle, looking precisely to his left, and seeing all the varieties there within. Tortilla chips in all manner of shapes and sizes, salsas of a wide array of zesty, mild and bold flavors.

He chose restaurant style chips quickly, as those were his favorite and most reliable chip to snack and devour, but as he gazed at the daunting amount of salsa choices, he felt annoyed & stumped.

"I'd love some black bean and corn, but the smoked chipotle salsa looks awfully tempting as well. even the garden fresh brand looks irresistible, I honestly can't decide which one to take..." he stopped his inner monologue as he began to stare at one jar in particular.

It was a rather plain looking jar, the label quaint  in it's old fashioned decor, the words on the label seemingly handwritten in a dark red ink, (that's how a lot of labeling is done these days, as many big companies like to put their labels in a more 'antiquated' look to give off a false feeling of 'homemade goodness.') Even so, Harold felt a deep, primal attraction to this particular jar. The label stated "only the purest ingredients make it onto each batch." And the name of this salsa: "33".

He picked up a jar and looked at the ingredients, seeing the typical configuration of tomatoes, peppers, onions, etc. With an interesting addition; 'natural flavor #33'. The curiosity got the best of Harold and he purchased two jars of this particular salsa and an additional jar of his favorite, his reasoning being that if this new salsa sucked, he could at least go home with an old reliable standby.

At home, Harold prepared to eat his favorite snack and whipped out a jar of the salsa he'd bought earlier that day, opened it & took out a chip from the bag to test it out. As he put the chip in his mouth & bit down, he felt a sudden rush of oral euphoria, a deeply satisfying array of flavor & satisfaction that made Harold look at the jar again, read the ingredients once more, and stay focused on the words 'natural flavor #33'.

"Hmm..." he muttered as he bit down on another salsa filled chip, "I wonder what this flavor is." He quickly finished the first jar, then inhaled the second soon thereafter, and when he realized the only full jar left was his old favorite,  a sudden rage grew inside him as he wantonly threw the jar into the garbage bin, causing it to shatter.

"More," he spouted, "I must have more!"

He ran steadfast to the car, turned it on, driving wrecklessly toward the supermarket where he bought his first two jars, & decided he was going to buy ten more to satiate his sudden craving for this exquisite salsa.

He rushed inside and ran straight to the salsa aisle, where he noticed there were much fewer jars of Salsa 33 then there were just a few hours before. 

So he bought what was left. Twelve jars.

He saw the cashier at the counter eye him with a judgemental gaze as he passed the last one through the scanner.

"Umm... sixty-two fifty sir," The cashier said as she pointed at one of the jars, "Is... is this that good?"

"None of your fucking business." Harold rudely responded as he threw a hundred dollar bill on the counter, picked up his bags, and ran home before collecting his change.

About two days later, Harold saw his last jar of salsa dwindle to a sullen empty vessel, and he decided then & there to restock as quickly as possible. He got dressed and headed to the local supermarket, where he quickly walked up to the snack food aisle. The aisle was full of people asking for salsa 33, & the shopkeeper kept stating that there were no more jars of that particular salsa.

"Where...where is the salsa?" Shouted one woman.

"I'll..I'll pay double!" said another.

Harold ran to his car and drove to the next supermarket a few miles away,  and as he entered he noticed there was an even bigger crowd there, all demanding a  jar of salsa '33'.

The store manager was on top of the counter as he held a bullhorn in front of his face & yelled "we apologize, but we do not have anymore salsa 33, we insist that you all..."

"He's lying!" Yelled a customer.

"You lying piece of shit!" Yelled another.

Harold stood back as he suddenly saw the crowd pull the manager & two other clerks down from the counter & began to pummel them, yelling deeply disturbing insults & obscenities while simultaneously screaming about their collective desire to possess more of the evasive salsa they desperately wanted.

Harold slowly walked out towards the supermarket parking lot & headed towards his car where he saw a woman chasing a boy holding a jar of the salsa in question.

"Give it to me, you little shit!" She barked to the little boy, who greedily lifted the jar & poured it downwards to his mouth as he ran, sloppily chewing & swallowing the salsa as he cackled insanely.

The woman pounced on the little boy & scratched at his face as she yelled at him, the little boy erstwhile looked back at her, cackling with sinister glee as he spit a little of the salsa he had in his mouth to her face, causing her to jump up in shock.

She then caressed her cheek to clean the salsa/spit concoction from her face & immediately slurped it up,  smiling as she did so.

Harold watched all of this & realized at this point that something was definitely...wrong.

He walked back to his car & drove to his home, all the while thinking about why he suddenly craved this salsa so desperately. He thought about the manager at the store,  his quizzical eyes, his confusion as they knocked him off the counter & ravaged his body.

He thought about how for just a second... HE wanted to do the same. He wanted to rip the manager apart for not having the salsa he so desperately desired.

Harold walked into his home, sat on his couch, took the remote control & flicked the power button, turning the TV on.

"...Tatama news today!" Announced the newsman in the tube, sounding like a hollow shell of false positivity as he finished whatever he was saying before Harold clicked the button.

"In local news, Rozentec Industries has recalled the initial batch of their latest product, salsa 33, as a fair amount of the people who consume it begin to exhibit rapid, fluctuating mood changes. This is especially prevalent in those who have an addictive nature. It is highly recommended to those who have shown signs of dependency for this product to come visit the Rozentec help center located on Argyle street."

Harold stared at the TV in disbelief. He knew he had a very addictive personality, always betting with his coworkers about who would win in the friday night slave fights. He decided then & there to get help before this feeling of need consumed him.

He was looking through the phonebook for directions to the Rozentec help center,  when he heard a sound coming from the front door.

"Did I forget to close the do...?"

His question was interrupted & answered by the appearance of three angry looking people brandishing knives.

"Well, hello!" Said the man to the left.

"We saw you leave the supermarket a little while ago, friend." Said the woman to the right.

"We were wondering if, you know, if you have any, salsa 33?" Said the man in the middle, who at this point made no effort to conceal his weapon. 

Harold realized then, that the only thing separating him from being immediately killed by the three intruders was the glass end table in front of him .

He quickly dropped to the floor, lifted the table up & lunged it at them, causing the glass top to shatter as harold ran out the back door.

"Now that's not very nice!" Shouted the man in the middle as the trio chased poor Harold closely.

Harold ran for dear life toward the help center as he yelled erratically for help. He then realized that he wasn't alone in doing that. A young blonde woman was also being chased by a couple of knife wielding maniacs.

Harold headed towards her.

"Follow me!" He yelled to her as he grabbed her  arm. She suddenly pulled her arm back & sliced Harold's hand with a pocketknife she was wielding in her other hand.

"Back off, motherfucker!" She yelled at Harold.

Harold winced in pain & disbelief as he turned around to run back towards the help center, not realizing they were suddenly surrounded.

"I bet," the middle man said, "I bet you ate a lot of that salsa. I bet... I bet your blood tastes pretty damn good too. Let's... let's find out."

The middle man lunged on top of Harold while the others mobbed the blonde woman.

They bit into her flesh, ripping chunks from her torso as she yelled out in excruciating pain.

Harold held him back as long as he could, but the middle man bit Harold's neck & ripped a small hunk of flesh from there, causing Harold to bleed rapidly.

Without hesitation, Harold swiped the knife from the middle man's hand & stabbed the man in his neck, leaving the blade there as he pushed the man off of him.

He watched in horror as the others were busy devouring the poor blonde woman, then he ran towards the help center, gripping his neck to limit the blood loss.

 Three red vans zipped right passed Harold & stopped at the horrific scene. The car doors opened & men in red suits hopped out. Each suit was labeled 'Cleaner' on the backside.

They all carried assault rifles & Black plastic bags.

They made quick work of the cannibals.

The cleaners are oh so efficient. 

Harold finally made it to the help center, & Opened the door.

As he entered, he noticed how empty  & white the hallway was. There were three doors in front of him, in three different colors. 

"Greetings!" A voice echoed from a loudspeaker in the wall. "Rozentec Industries is very grateful to you, dear customer! Thank you for coming to us for help, please proceed to the blue door if you need help with our pharmaceutical products. Please proceed to the red door if you need help with a recent product recall, & finally if you need help with a food recall, please proceed through the green door. Thank you for being a faithful customer, & long live Rozentec Industries!"

As the loudspeaker began to repeat the message, Harold walked toward the green door & walked inside.

Two men in red suits greeted him with fake smiles, then held him down.

"Jeez," the man on the left said, "Fifty seven now. How many of these addicts do we have in this stinkin' city?"

"Well," the guy on the right answered, "the outside crew just tallied 102, so we're hoping not many more."

Harold looked at both of them with utter confusion as one of the men pulled out a needle & plunged it into Harold's neck.

The last thing Harold heard before he passed out was the man on the left saying to the other:

"If you ask me, Rozentec Industries is letting these addicts off easy. I'd just shoot 'em &..."

When Harold woke up, he found himself chained to a pole. A TV turned on automatically & a woman in very tacky business attire was on the screen.

"Hello," she began, "if you are hearing this, you are unfortunately no longer able to function as a thriving member of our society. Fortunately,  we always offer one last chance to all of our citizens, so that they may still contribute to our wonderful town.

Welcome... to our indentured servant program."

{Fin.}