Being an adult is hard.

There’s too many things you have to think about; where to live, how to pay for the bills, and finding work. For me, it’s that I want to pursue higher education, but I can’t, I’m poor, and the economy’s fucked. It’s always been difficult, the state of the world has been this way for so long, and it’s worse now. When monsters tear through the fabric of space and wage war against humanity, shit gets fucked. More than it already is, if you could believe it. Funnily enough, wars waged by humans against each other has lasted longer than this one. There’s humor in that, but I don’t know what the punchline is.

One peace treaty and countless speeches later, here we are, monsters among humans.

And here I am, wasting away in front of a television.

What the fuck do I do? I think to myself, eyes burning from staring at the screen. What was I even watching? There’s a local celebrity on screen, trying to cook, and failing miserably. There's a woman next to him, seemingly human, but the slit spanning from the corners of her lips to her cheeks said otherwise. Not a second later, she opens her mouth, like a snake with unhinged jaws. “That shouldn’t be on television,” I mutter to myself with a snort, slightly amused. Well, it was funny, though. Terrifying, but funny.

“That was very satisfactory, but don’t you think we could spice it up a bit more?” The woman began to speak after devouring the prepared meal- plate and all. “We’re looking for interested participants in an upcoming reality cooking show! live together and go through challenges, but the twist is you must use foreign ingredients! And by foreign, we mean ingredients from our homeworld. That’s right, interdimensional cooking!” The woman, the host, explained gleefully. “Below are the requirements, and how to contact us. Hope to hear from you all soon!”

Despite not really caring nor wanting to, I found my eyes slowly skimming over the screen, which said: Must be human, 18 and above in age, at least 1 year of experience with working in a kitchen. Technically, I do qualify.

“The prize is money and fame! You don’t have to be a professional to join, so what do you have to lose?” The woman continued on as her, I’m assuming, co-host, walked into frame; a tall, faceless monster, who towered over everybody in the room. The co-host said nothing, and was simply 'staring' into the camera. "See you soon at Monster Meals!"

I reach for the remote and turn the TV off. Enough of that, I need a break. I get up and drag myself over to my sorry excuse of a bed, crawling into the cold sheets and letting it envelop me. Sleep doesn’t come easy to me, knowing that I have to face my problems again tomorrow.

So I begin to overthink. 

I want to go to college, but I need to work so I can pay my bills. I can’t do both, I won’t make enough money. Fuck this place. Was I really just born to live this way? Day after day burning through fake customer service smiles, living paycheck to paycheck, making just enough that I don’t become homeless. After all these depressing, tiresome thoughts, I still can’t fucking sleep. But that’s okay, I’m not done yet. I haven’t gotten to the part where I think about my childhood and mourn the loss of it, the part where I become jealous of simpler times I lived and was too foolish to appreciate. 

Oh, all the things I took for granted. 

I remember it like yesterday; Sunday mornings in the province. Eggs, tomatoes, dried fish. We were poor, but I never really knew it, never really felt like it, and for that I thank and I admire my mother. She taught me how to live like we weren’t drowning in debt, like we weren’t living in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Creative solutions, that was what she drilled into my head. That's how I got my apartment to look a little less shit, and that's why, even though it's not particularly healthy in any way, I can make instant noodles that doesn’t taste like fucking depression.

And yet I still can't figure out a solution to my dilemma. Then I'm right back to thinking about bills and colleges. God-forsaken economy, wretched poverty. I want to eat something right now, something filling, for once. What do you have to lose? The woman's voice rang in my head and to that I say, nothing. I sit up, and I reach for the phone on my nightstand, and there I was at 11pm, furiously tapping away on a keypad, how to apply to monster meals. 

I mean, let’s be real, opportunities like this are a free gamble. I've got nothing to lose.

If I get in, great, my life will forever be changed. Woohoo. And if I don’t get in? Life goes on. My life is already an endless loop of working and sleeping and having panic attacks and, fuck, my life wasn’t even that bad. But I can't be optimistic. It’s futile to exert my hopes and dreams into something like joining a reality TV show. 

All this mulling and thinking made my head hurt, as if I needed that. I scrolled down the webpage so I could read the instructions and get it all over it. ‘Answer a form and send in a video of you showcasing your creativity in cooking!’ was the gist of it. Obviously, I had no time for that now. Maybe tomorrow. Reading through the site did provide my eyes with the needed exercise, which made it easier for me to fall asleep. 

Morning arrived, and I was hit immediately by a sense of regret. Not the application, which I hadn’t even started yet, but the restless night of “research” that left me with a pounding headache. My phone’s alarm rang its usual loud tone, and I turned it off before sitting up and rubbing my face. 

As I brewed my morning coffee, the ad lingered in my mind. It wasn’t just the promise of money and fame that tempted me- I wasn’t naive enough to think they’d just hand that out. It was the fact that it was different. A disruption of this monotonous life.

I leaned against the counter and took out my phone. Monster Meals’ website was still in my browser history. I clicked the link and reread the instructions. Showcasing your creativity in cooking, huh? I glanced at the stack of instant noodles on the counter, my mind making a mental list of crap and leftovers in my fridge. My options were limited, but isn’t that the whole point? 

Grabbing a notebook, I jotted down ideas. If they wanted creativity, I’d give it to them.

“Hi, I’m Adrienne, and this is my audition for Monster Meals. Today, we’re taking fast food leftovers and instant noodles, and turning them into something… elevated."

Ugh, I hated that term. 

I gesture to my counter, littered with ingredients: a carton of limp fries, half a burger, a couple of chicken nuggets, a cup of instant noodles, and a tub of coleslaw. On the side were packets of ketchup and BBQ sauce.

“First up, the noodles,” I say, tearing off the cup's lid. “These are going to be the foundation of our dish.” I toss the noodles into a pot of boiling water and cook them for a couple of minutes. While that’s happening, I mix the seasoning packet with a little BBQ sauce to make a new flavor base.

Next, the fries. I mash them in a bowl with a pinch of salt, pepper, and the ketchup packet for a hint of tang. “We’re turning these into potato cakes,” I explain, as I take out a bowl and my knife, and began to shave down the burger bun into breadcrumbs. I heat some oil in a pan and fry the mixture until golden and crispy.

Now for the burger patty. I pinch and crumble it into a hot pan, letting it sizzle to get those crispy edges. “We’re going for a savory topping,” I say as I stir it around. While that cooks, I chop the chicken nuggets and the other half of the burger bun into chunks, to be turned into... some kind of crouton, which I take care of after the patty was done.

By now, the noodles are soft enough, so I drain them and toss them back into the pot with the sauce mixture, stirring until they’re glossy and coated. 

Time to plate.

I start with the noodles, twirling them into a nest-like shape on the plate. On top, I sprinkle the crispy burger crumble, then add the nugget-and-bun-crouton pieces. Lastly, I arranged the potato cakes on the side.

For the finishing touch, I grab the coleslaw and spoon it into a small ramekin. Finally, I drizzle a little bit of BBQ sauce over everything, just for flair.

“And there you have it,” I say, holding the plate up for the camera. “Fast food leftovers and instant noodles, transformed into something you could almost pass off as a restaurant dish.”

I stop recording and stare at the plate. That was the most stressful thing I’ve done in months, which is saying something. I grab a fork, take a bite, and grin.

Somehow, against all odds, it worked. 

After a quick edit, I upload the video, fill out the form, and hit submit before I can overthink it. 

The screen blinked with a confirmation message: Your application has been submitted. You will be contacted if selected. 

That was it. I’d done my part. I look at the clock, I still had 3 hours before work, so I climb into my bed and for the first time in a long time, fell asleep almost immediately.

2 weeks had gone by in its usual, excruciatingly boring way.

Work dragged on as usual, and I convinced myself that I’d already been rejected. Then, just as I was starting to forget about the whole thing, my phone buzzed with an email notification.

Congratulations!

I stared at the subject line, my heart pounding. Opening the email, I skimmed over the words, hardly daring to believe it. They wanted me. ME. To be part of Monster Meals. It was all there: travel arrangements, waivers, and the promise of a lot of “unique” challenges.

My stomach churned. What had I gotten myself into? But as I stared at the screen, heart pounding, my dread turned into... hope. 

This is it.

My shot at… something. 

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the email like it might disappear if I blinked too hard. My hands were shaking, and I had to read the message a few more times just to make sure it wasn’t some cruel prank. But no, it was real. They wanted me. Out of all the people who probably applied, they picked me.